


Where Shall We Three Meet Again?

by FireflyFish



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gen, M/M, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyFish/pseuds/FireflyFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where shall we three meet again?<br/>In thunder, lighting or in rain?<br/>When the hurlyburly's done<br/>When the battle's lost and won.<br/>That will be ere the set of sun. "<br/>-Macbeth</p><p>"We are taught that the Force surrounds us. It binds us. And some believe, heretically of course, that Force binds not just our world but many worlds together." -Master Saesee Tiin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Me, Myself and I

Obi-Wan Kenobi woke up to a pounding headache and a back so stiff he wondered for a moment if he had been imprisoned by Separatists for the third time that month. When he remembered he had hands and discovered that they moved, he used them to roll over onto his back, letting out a sigh of exertion. He carefully opened his eyes and frowned at the ceiling overhead.

Pale, taupe stone and soft ambient light coming from over Obi-Wan’s left shoulder gave him little clue as to where he was and why he couldn’t remember what he was doing before he woke up. The bed underneath him felt comfortable, just soft enough to encourage relaxation but not nearly enough to indulge in a long, indolent nap. There was a blanket tangled up in his legs and now that he was thinking about it, his boots were still on, which was even more curious.

There was something about the ceiling that was terribly familiar.

Obi-Wan inhaled and exhaled steadily before he closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, letting his senses unfurl like the tide of an endless ocean.

_Where am I? What is this… place?_

His blue-grey eyes flew open and Obi-Wan sat up in a rush, regretting it an instant later when the world spun murderously and the contents of his stomach tried to make an encore appearance.

His room.

He closed his eyes and urged the Force to calm the vertigo and nausea waging a war for dominance over his body. Eventually, order was restored and the Jedi master stood up slowly, looking around his room.

In the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

Obi-Wan frowned at the meditation cushions by the window and the small workspace tucked into a corner. There was another chair over to the side of the table and a neat stack of datapads on the shelf above. The bed was tucked against a wall and he found himself absent-mindedly making it, tucking the sheets back into place and fluffing his pillow as he tried to remember how exactly it was that he got home.

The last thing Obi-Wan could remember was a conversation with Anakin about a mission report the younger Jedi was trying to pawn off on his Padawan Learner, Ahsoka Tano. They were in a ship’s hallway and he thought he remembered hearing Admiral Yularen in the background, which would have meant they were on the _Reliant_.

He remembered his parting words to Anakin as he stepped through a doorway. “Perhaps the Council will have an idea. We will simply have to wait and see. Good night, Anakin.”

“Good night, Obi-Wan,” Anakin had replied before the door shut and that was where the Jedi master’s memory ended.

“Damn,” Obi-Wan muttered, rubbing his temples as he headed towards the door, hoping that nothing had happened between his memory and now. Perhaps it was some kind of bio-neurological weapon used by the Separatists and, if that was the case, he needed to make a report to the Council immediately. He hit the button to open the door and walked out into the hallway.

_I hope Anakin and Ahsoka are safe._

A loud, angry groan followed by a foul curse interrupted Obi-Wan’s deep thoughts and he jumped, surprised by the sudden sound. He looked around for the source of the moaning and was startled to discover that he was staring at a black-robed man who was rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped out of a room opposite Obi-Wan’s. He was grousing to himself in Huttese, the harsh, guttural language sounding oddly crisp and erudite coming from the black-garbed figure.

Obi-Wan watched in a kind of horrified awe as the ginger-haired man rolled his head from side to side before he stood up straight, his yellow eyes distant for a minute before they snapped to focus on the Jedi in the doorway.

Blue-grey met corrupted yellow and for a moment, a long, tense moment, neither man said a word to the other. Each Force-wielder held their hand over their lightsaber, waiting for the other to crack and make a move.

The man in black spoke first. “Let me guess. A trick by the Council to tempt me back to the pale gloaming of the Order?”

Obi-Wan kept his expression neutral as he responded. “So then you are a Sith.”

“I am,” the Sith replied with a bow of his head and wicked smile that horrified Obi-Wan with its familiarity. “And can I assume that you are now _Master_ Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “You may, Darth…?”

The Sith chuckled. “Arulas.”

The Jedi smiled, a false, polite expression. “A pleasure, Darth Arulas. And may I assume that you were not born with that name?”

“You may, _Master_ Kenobi,” Darth Arulas grinned, and Obi-Wan watched in barely concealed shock as the Sith lord’s smile mirrored his own, complete with his own damn dimples.

“You know, I’ve always wondered how my life would have been had I followed in Qui-Gon’s officious footsteps. I see now that following the rules and sucking up to Master Windu and Yoda might have paid off.”

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at this man who called himself Arulas but decided to hold his tongue. He was certain that if he could stall for time and keep the Sith Lord occupied, another Jedi would be along and they could bring some reinforcements. Hopefully Master Yoda was on-planet and he could shed some light on the subject.

“As much as I would love to stay for a tour of the holding cells down on level 252,” Arulas sneered, his face twisting into a harsh expression, “I have no intention of waiting around for whatever random Jedi that just happens to pass by. If you will excuse me, Master Kenobi, I have an escape to make.”

Obi-Wan’s blade was out and lit before he had conscious awareness of it. He shook his head once, still smiling politely at the Sith Lord wearing his face. “I’m afraid I must insist. We’ve only just met and it would be terribly rude to leave the party so early.”

A red saber rose to life in Arulas’s left-gloved hand and he narrowed his eyes. “Just like our Master. How disappointing.”

The Jedi Master was going to make a dry and witty retort when he heard the door behind him open and someone step out behind him, muttering and cursing to herself. “Anakin, that is the last time I let you talk me into two bottles of Telladorian liquor…”

Arulas looked up at Obi-Wan who stood still and turned his head just a bit to the side, trying to catch a glance at the woman behind him. The Sith Lord peered around his shoulder and the Jedi could tell by his round eyes that he was in for another shock.

“Excuse me. Please find your own door to stand in front of, young one,” the woman sniffed, her voice crisp and clear with that same polished accent. Obi-Wan felt two hands on his shoulder blades shoving him forward towards the Sith, who deactivated his blade, apparently in shock. “Force but my head hurts.”

Obi-Wan slowly turned around, turning his off as well, Arulas stepping to his side as both men gaped at the woman with faded copper-brown hair that stood in front of them. She rolled her shoulders back as she looked down the hallway and frowned. “This isn’t right. This is the wrong hall.”

“Indeed,” Arulas observed, his voice cool with a faint thread of amusement. Obi-Wan shot him a look and shook his head as he stepped forward.

“Pardon me, my dear, but who are you?” he asked, his blue eyes kind and encouraging, as was his presence in the Force.

The woman blinked at the twins in front of her, one with blue-grey eyes that crinkled at the corners and the other with eyes like sulphur pits on Malastare, corrosive and wrong. She furrowed her brow at them, puzzled as to why they both had moles on their right cheek like she did and the faintest mole on their foreheads. If it weren’t for the hateful eyes and the black clothing of the one, she would have taken them for twins or even clones.

“Your name, my lady?” Arulas practically oozed charm as he bent his head in greeting.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Jedi woman replied, folding her arm over her chest and giving the two men a good and proper glower. “And who are you?”

The man dressed as a Jedi master let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face, taking a long moment to stroke his beard. “I… I am also called Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is…”

“Darth Arulas,” the Sith replied, stepping forward to take the hand of his female doppelganger, kissing the back of her fingers. “I must say that I am pleased to see how attractive my female form is. Well done, my dear.”

The woman looked from the Jedi Master to the Sith lord, frowning and politely but firmly retaking her hand from Arulas’s grasp. She pursed her lips, held up a hand as if to say something and then shook her head. “No. This is a dream. Or perhaps a hallucination. Either way, I am going back to sleep. Good night.”

And with that decision made, the lady Obi-Wan turned on her heel and marched back into the room that the Jedi master Obi-Wan had emerged from a few minutes ago. The Sith lord looked at his light-side counterpart, holding his gloved hand to his mouth, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I give her five minutes.”

“Five?” the Jedi master echoed. “I’d give her three.”

Two minutes later, she walked back out of the room, looking very concerned and a touch anxious. “That is not my room.”

“Do tell,” Arulas practically purred in amusement. “And whose room is it?”

“Not mine,” she snapped, glaring colbalt fire at the Sith. “What is going on here? Who are you and why are you here? Where is Anakin?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Obi-Wan murmured, turning to look for the door that Darth Arulas had stepped out of only to find that it had disappeared. “That’s odd. It seems your room has vanished, Darth.”

“Perhaps you are unfamiliar with proper ettiquette when addressing a Sith Lord,” Arulas replied with an edge of menace in his voice. “But Darth is a title. Arulas will do fine for now, Obi-Wan.”

“This is so bizarre,” the female Obi-Wan sighed, still not believing what was happening and folding her arms over her chest. “How did we get here?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Arulas answered, reaching out to touch the wall, his hand running over the seamless stone. “Curious. It is as if it never was. What strange Force work is this?”

The three Obi-Wans looked around the hallway, observing the midday light coming from a window at the end of the hallway and the polished stone floors beneath their boots. This part of the Temple was quiet and still but there was the faintest whisper of distant voices from the classrooms and training areas. There were three more rooms next to Obi-Wan’s but they were empty of life. The Force seemed quiet and still, as if dozing in the warm sunlight.

“Assuming this is not a dream,” the lady spoke first, walking towards the window, “How did we all come to be in the same place at the same time?”

Arulas waved one hand with an elegant flourish of sarcasm. “The Force works in mysterious ways?”

“Besides that,” the male Jedi Master sighed, massaging a temple as he followed his female counterpart. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember drinking too much Telladorian liquor with Anakin and having to haul him to his room by his boots,” female Obi-Wan muttered, trying to stretch out her sore shoulders. “I threw a blanket over him and left him to sleep it off. Then I stepped into the hallway and… I can’t remember anything after that.”

“Troubling,” the male Jedi master observed as the Sith rolled his eyes and muttered something about “typical Jedi”.

Both Jedi turned to look at the Sith, who was lounging against a wall, a predatory smile on his face and his eyes glinting. “What?”

“Anyway,” the lady continued, looking out over Coruscant, “The door closed and that was it. That’s all I remember.”

“We’ll need to speak to the Council,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard. “And locate Anakin. That is the last thing I recall as well, parting with Anakin and a door closing. Only I was on the Reliant.”

Arulas let out a groan and rolled his eyes, stepping away from the wall and prowling over to his Jedi twins. “You can do what you like but I am leaving this marble sepulchre. Clearly whatever brought us here is no longer in this place, if it was ever in the Temple to begin with.”

“Maybe if we find Anakin we can… I don’t know,” Obi-Wan pulled her braid over one shoulder and fretted with the end. She looked younger than the male Jedi Master at her side and he put a hand on her shoulder. He imagined that Anakin was still a Padawan at her age, a strong-willed teenager who was really starting to push the limits of her patience. He remembered that time and while he had learned a great many things about Anakin and himself, he did not envy her task.

“He’s fine,” Obi-Wan said, his voice low and warm. “I’m sure he’ll think long and hard about sneaking alcohol into the Temple again.”

His female twin looked up at him puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Arulas put an arm on the window, throwing a shadow over his gilt-colored eyes. “He means your drunken hoodlum of a Padawan. What would Master Yoda say? Letting the Chosen One drink himself into a stupor! Shocking!”

The woman caught between the Jedi Master and the Sith looked at them both before realization dawned and she let out a short, bright torrent of laughter. “Oh! You think… oh! Aha! He’s not… Anakin was Knighted almost two years ago. We were out celebrating a victory on Akitan III.”

“What?” The Jedi Master asked, looking down at his clearly younger female twin. “But… how is it possible that you are younger than me? How old is Anakin?”

“Now, now, Old Man,” Arulas chuckled, placing his hands on the female Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “If our Little Sister wishes to celebrate a victory with some sweet Telladorian cocktails, who are we to judge? There’s nothing in the Code that forbids it, after all.”

“I am _not_ your Little Sister!” the other Obi-Wan seethed, jerking out from under the Sith Lord’s hands.

Arulas simply smiled and folded his arms over his chest as if very pleased with himself. “Ah, but we can’t _all_ call ourselves Obi-Wan, now can we? And since I already have a name, that leaves you and the Old Man. And I doubt he wants to be called that.”

Both Obi-Wans scowled at Arulas and he let out a pleased snicker. He was going to say something when Little Sister spoke up, her voice brisk and sharp. “Fine. Since our fallen brother lacks the mental capacity to tell us apart, I will spare you the grief of such a label, Obi-Wan.”

She put her hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and smiled, a charming expression intended to soothe his ruffled feathers and assuage his bruised ego. It was the smile of the Negotiator and Obi-Wan had never been on the receiving end of his own trick before.

He was a little embarrassed at how well it worked but then Little Sister and Arulas were arguing over which Obi-Wan was smarter and he found himself exhausted by their energy. Perhaps he was turning into an Old Man after all.

_I’ve certainly been called worse._

“Enough, I said enough!” Obi-Wan barked, inserting himself between the two squabbling Force users. “You are both too loud and will attract attention we cannot afford at this time.”

“Where will we go?” Little Sister asked, looking at her older counterparts. “Shouldn’t we try to find Anakin?”

“That boy is going to be worthless,” Arulas muttered, rolling his eyes. “He’s good for two things, fighting and...”

The other two Obi-Wans pointed their fingers at the Sith Lord and ordered in the same voice, “You hold your tongue, Sith!”

Arulas blinked at this sudden display of carefully controlled anger and made a mental note, hiding a pleased smile behind his gloved hand. But he had to admit he was a little disappointed at how easily manipulated his other selves seemed to be. “My apologies.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and looked back at the copper-haired woman before him. “If nothing else, we need to get him out of here. He is here on borrowed time. Surely someone will sense his presence.”

“There you are, Master Obi-Wan! I’ve been looking all over for you!” A cheerful and far too familiar voice broke through the quiet discussion between the displaced Kenobis.

“Too late,” Little Sister murmured as Darth Arulas stood up stiffly, turning away from the two of them and running a hand over his face. Obi-Wan turned around slowly at the faint nod from the female Jedi master.

He pulled his shoulders back and put his own Negotiator’s smile on, hoping that it was just a starstruck Initiate or some young Padawan who had a message to give him.

The Old Man had no such luck as he smiled down at Ahsoka Tano, her blue eyes as bright as her smile, the silka beads of her Padawan braid swinging in place. She bowed to him and Little Sister. “I finished our mission report. I thought you would want to read it over before I submitted it to the Council.”

Obi-Wan frowned, puzzled. Why would Ahsoka be giving him her mission report?

“Hello there!” Little Sister piped up, her voice cheerful and suddenly much higher than the Old Man or the Sith Lord were expecting, startling the two with its easy charm and grace. “Are you Master Kenobi’s Padawan?”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, looking a little confused. “Yes. For past year now. I’m sorry, Master, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Obi-Wan stood very still as he waited for his female twin to speak.

“I’m Shmi Skywalker,” Little Sister said, bowing to Ahsoka as if she had no idea who the Togruta Padawan was. “I’m the Watchman for the Arkanis Sector.”

Obi-Wan watched Ahsoka’s face for any sign of recognition, wondering what the Force was saying to his counterpart. He hope that Little Sister knew what she was doing because this was most definitely not one of his plans.

Ahsoka mouth dropped and she gasped in surprise. “You’re a Watchman? Really? I’ve never met a Watchman before. Isn’t that a permanent position?”

Little Sister nodded with a smile. “Yes. I’m here to pick up some goods and do a little bit of research in the Archives. There’s only so much sand one person can take.”

Ahsoka laughed and Obi-Wan felt his stomach tighten as the two girls continued to chat about the Archives and Master Nu. He had suddenly realized why his twin had chosen to use Anakin’s mother’s name. It was clear by Ahsoka’s reaction that she was not at all familiar with the Skywalker name and if she was claiming to be his Padawan that could only mean one thing.

In this world, Anakin Skywalker was not a Jedi Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This fic was inspired by a post on tumblr discussing how Canon! Obi-Wan would react to meeting Sith! Obi-Wan from ImaginaryKat's lovely fic Wicked Things. It took me five minutes and I didn't find the post that inspired this but you can have [THIS LOVELY POST WITH ART BY DIS4DARIA INSTEAD.](http://imaginaryanon.tumblr.com/post/147194994868/dis4daria-so-we-were-discussing-with-kat)
> 
> And I thought, "Wait! Why settle for two Obi-Wans when you could have MORE. WRITE ALL THE OBI-WANS! EVERY TYPE OF KENOBI UNDER THE SUN!"
> 
> Which was great but I had a problem. You see, I couldn't write about [ImaginaryKat's Darth Lumos](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6261721) and I couldn't write about my darling GF's [Darth Arev (you should totally go read that one too)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7324675) so that _forced_ me to come up with my own Sith! Obi-Wan. And then a Lady! Obi-Wan showed up because [that's how I roll](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7168979) and somewhere in this world is yet ANOTHER _mostly?_ Canon Obi-Wan who is Ahsoka's Master.
> 
> Okay. Let me try this again.
> 
> Canon! Obi-Wan is The Old Man.  
> Sith! Obi-Wan is Darth Arulas.  
> Fem! Obi-Wan is Little Sister.  
> Not-Really-Canon-but-Not-Nearly-As-AU-as-Little-Sister-or-Darth-Arulas is the Jedi Master whom Ahsoka mistook Canon! Obi-Wan for.
> 
> Good God there will be more words in the notes than in the damn chapter. Anyway, I want to thank all of the lovely people out there whose fan art has inpsired me and whose head canons tempt me to write more fic when I need to be working on my original works and just, you know, keep me busy while the Pokemon Go servers are down. ^_~ Y'all are amazing and I love each and every one of you.
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr at [FireflyFish](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/) Where I will one day get around to posting fan art that I can draw on my brand new cintiq! WOOHOOO!


	2. Cerulean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this next chapter of the adventures of our time and space displaced Obi-Wan Kenobis; Old Man, Little Sister and Arulas go in search of answers and credits. Arulas goes "shopping", Little Sister makes a new friend and a long hidden secret is revealed to the Old Man.

“I cannot believe you are actually editing that little girl’s mission report! Of all the times to be a bloody conscientious fool, you pick this one?”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the one who accepted that he was going to have to answer to the annoying moniker of “Old Man” for the foreseeable future, did his best to ignore the rantings of his Sith twin, who was pacing around the room that Old Man had woken up in a few hours ago. He continued reading Ahsoka’s mission report, a well-crafted and concise evaluation of a month-long adventure on Kashyyyk. It seemed that Senator Amidala had requested Jedi peacekeepers visit the planet in an attempt to solve a succession crisis that was threatening to plunge the population into a civil war.

According to Ahsoka’s report, which the Old Man found to be worlds beyond anything Anakin had ever written, the Senator had flown to the planet with Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan Learner, Ahsoka Tano. While there they had discovered some mercenaries who were under the employ of the Trade Federation, who the Padawan believed had been hired to pit the two largest Wookie clans against each other in a way that would require the Republic occupy the planet in order to bring peace. The mission was uncomfortably similar to what Old Man had recently undergone on Mandalore and the death of the Duchess Satine still weighed heavily on his heart.

“Are you done yet?” Arulas muttered, slouching backwards into his seat, one ankle resting on his knee as he glowered at Obi-Wan over his folded arms. “Honestly, how do you expect to defeat the Sith if you can’t even handle a teenager’s grammar?”

The Old Man rolled his eyes and held up the data pad. “Ahsoka is a smart and observant girl. She was able to subtly imply that the mercenaries sent to Kashyyyk were there causing trouble that would have forced the Republic to give administration of the planet and its resources over to the Trade Federation. Not only that, I have confirmed that Senator Amidala maintains a similar position in this world to the one she does in both of ours, and that Dooku is on the Council.”

Arulas flinched and turned to his Jedi twin. “Dooku is alive?”

“I see that he is not in your world,” the Old Man mused, stroking his beard. “Curious.”

The Sith inhaled sharply and shook his head, looking away. “When is Little Sister coming back? How long does it take to research Jedi artifacts?”

Obi-Wan’s lips quirked in amusement. “Anxious? Is the Temple testing your vaunted Sith patience?”

“I much preferred it when I was the only one making witty comments,” Arulas sniffed, turning to look at the door as if he could summon their female twin through sheer force of will. “What else have you discovered?”

“The Crisis on Naboo seems to have been resolved without Anakin’s discovery,” the Old Man said, flipping through some of the background material for Ahsoka’s report. “Ah… here it is. Under possible conflicts of interest.”

Arulas arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean, _Master_ Kenobi?”

“Has it been so long since you’ve had to make a mission report?” the Old Man asked, his voice cheerfully threaded with sarcasm. “Perhaps you should take on the mantle of Elder Kenobi if your memory is failing you already.”

Arulas’s sulphur eyes burned in the soft, filtered twilight thrown by the far window. Obi-Wan smiled and turned back to his report, the expression fading as he continued to read. “Apparently the Crisis on Naboo… was not unlike my experience with Qui-Gon on Mandalore and… Satine.”

Lost in his own painful memories, Obi-Wan did not notice how Arulas’ eyes narrowed and his right hand closed into a fist, the leather creaking in protest. The two men were still lost in their own bitter recriminations when the Temple chimed and Arulas shook his shadows off. “And Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan continued to read, flipping through the report on this world’s Obi-Wan Kenobi’s exploits on Naboo. “Alive, apparently. It seems he received a disabling injury on Naboo and has retired from active duty.”

“Oh?” Arulas’s voice was so carefully neutral that Obi-Wan could not help but make note of it. Clearly whatever had happened that had turned Arulas to the dark side of the Force had something to do with Qui-Gon. Given the Sith’s comments on Anakin, few though they were, it stood reason that the event on Naboo had been a large part of his turn to the dark.

_I wonder who your master is and if he is the same as in my world?_

Arulas cleared his throat and canted his head to the side, a pleasantly fake smile on his face. “So our dear Master lives, Dooku is on the Council and your precious Chosen One is nowhere to be seen. How do you suppose this iteration of Jedi plans to defeat their Sith Lord?”

“Assuming that there is still one out there?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up from the data pad. “There is no Confederacy of Independant Systems here. Perhaps our fellow brother was far more successful at killing Sith than I was.”

“Maul survived Naboo?” Arulas asked, frowning at his gloves.

The Old Man sighed and shrugged. “I’m not sure I understand how but yes. He did. I cut the bastard in half and yet…”

“In half?” Arulas blinked, surprised. “And he lived through that? Impressive. His hatred for you must be great to live through that.”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at the Sith. “Do tell. And how pray tell did _you_ handle Maul?”

The Sith Lord sneered as he leaned back into his chair and curled his right hand into a fist. “I put my saber through his heart.”

The pride and vindictive pleasure on a face so similar to his own twisted up Obi-Wan’s gut and he turned away, taking a few measured breaths as he repeated the Jedi Code to himself. He reminded himself that the path to the dark side was a choice and just because Arulas gave into the negative emotions all Jedi fought with did not mean he had to make the same choices.

“Who is the Chancellor of the Senate?” Arulas asked as he gazed out the window at the gauzy golden glow of Coruscant as the sunset set the sky on fire.

Obi-Wan scrolled up to the top of the report and his lips pulled into an annoyed line. “Palpatine.”

“Some things never change,” Arulas chuckled. “Ah… I think she’s back.”

The Old Man felt the brisk, cool presence of their female counterpart as the door opened. She stepped inside, holding her own datapad and a dejected expression on her face. “I couldn’t find anything in the Archives. But I did download a few articles and philosophical papers that might be useful to us.”

“What took you so damn long?” Arulas groused as he stood up and walked over to the copper-haired woman. “I’ve had to watch this senile fool copy edit darling Ahsoka’s report.”

Little Sister rolled her eyes and waved off the Sith Lord. “It’s better to keep the mind occupied while waiting. It makes the time pass faster. Did you find anything?”

“Qui-Gon lives, Dooku is on the Council, and instead of an extended mission on Mandalore our counterpart was on Naboo with Padme Amidala,” the Old Man informed the woman who was now pouring over Ahsoka’s report with curiosity. “What did you download?”

“Older articles,” she explained, flipping through pages of the report. “No Clone Wars? No Separatists?”

“None,” Old Man answered. “As near as I can tell, the Sith Lord has not yet made his move here.”

“Yet…” Arulas said, looking out the window. “He will. And these fools won’t see it coming anymore than they saw it in my world.”

“What a lovely thing to say,” Little Sister sniffed, putting the datapad down. “If we want to make our exit, I would advise we do it shortly. Dinner will be soon and most of the Temple will be in the dining hall. The speeder bay will be sparsely staffed and no one will notice if we slip out.”

“Finally!” Arulas sighed, marching to the door. “Someone with some sense.”

“Just let me send this off,” the Old Man said, punching in his personal ID code and shaking his head as it was accepted and the mission report sent off to the High Council. “Clearly I need to change my passcode.”

“I forgot to mention that,” Little Sister replied as the three moved out into the hallway and walked with purpose towards the speeder bay. “Do we have any destination in mind?”

“Yes,” Arulas spoke up, stepping up between his Jedi twins. “A gambling establishment. We’re not going to get very far without credits.”

“Oh, I have a bad feeling about this,” the Old Man groaned as they hurried into the growing shadows of the Temple.

* * *

 

“I still say we should have sold the speeder to that greedy hammerhead,” Arulas muttered as the trio walked down the neon jewelled streets of Coruscant. “I’m sure scavengers are going to strip it for parts within the hour.”

Little Sister looked back at Arulas, her blue eyes almost glowing in the harsh light of a nearby sign advertising trips to Bespin. “If we sold it to a fence then they will know there are three of us and the less the Temple knows, the better.”

Mildly impressed, Arulas continued. “Well… where are we going to get enough credits to buy into a proper sabacc table? I don’t suppose you happen to have several thousand in one of those voluminous pockets of yours, Old Man?”

The Old Man snorted and Little Sister shook her head. “All I have is my com and lightsaber.”

“That’s more than enough,” Arulas decided as they continued down the street. “We’ll put your saber up as collateral.”

“What?” Both Jedi gasped, visibly horrified at this idea.

Arulas turned to face them as the three came to a stop. “Well we can’t put _mine_ up due to its… distinctive coloring and since the Old Man is going to be the muscle whilst I am winning us a small fortune in sabacc, that leaves you the odd woman out.”

“When were you intending on sharing this plan with the rest of us?” Old Man asked, his arms folded over his chest as Little Sister stood next to him, her hands on her hips. The two Jedi glared at the Sith who seemed completely oblivious to their angry glowers.

“Before we found a fitting establishment,” Arulas replied before he frowned at a commotion on the other side of the speeder lane, where a police droid was trying to arrest a rowdy bunch of young Rodians. “Some place with a bit more cache than this level, as… _charming_ as the local flora and fauna might be.”

Little Sister turned to follow his gaze and pursed her lips. “I think I might know a place. Chancellor Palpatine took Anakin there once. He told me there was quite a lot of gambling there.”

Old Man frowned at his sister as she led them towards a junction lift at the end of the balcony they were walking along. “Chancellor Palpatine took Anakin to a casino? And you let him? What were you thinking?”

Arulas snickered but the male Jedi ignored him as Little Sister kept right on walking. “The Chancellor told the Temple that he was taking Anakin to visit the Museum of Aboriginal Peoples and Culture. Anakin told _me_ when he got back.”

Old Man frowned as her words called up a memory of a similar trip and the foul mood his Padawan had returned with. Obi-Wan had chalked it up to Anakin’s typical mood swings but now he wasn’t so sure. If Palpatine had taken Anakin to a casino, what was the purpose? What was he supposed to have learned in such a den of iniquity? “Why would the Chancellor lie about something like that?”

“Because he’s a lying bastard?” Little Sister retorted, waving one hand. “And he’s seeking to undermine my authority over Anakin? Don’t tell me you actually trust him.”

Arulas said nothing but turned to look at Old Man with a lupine grin of curiosity.

“I would rather tongue kiss a Hutt,” the male Jedi scowled, looking offended. “I have never liked Chancellor Palpatine, but I have never been given reason to believe his outright duplicity, either.”

“Breaking news, Obi-Wan,” Little Sister retorted as the three stepped into the glass turbolift. “Chancellor Palpatine is not to be trusted. He has always been far too interested in our Padawan for Anakin’s well-being.”

“Perhaps you should listen to our dear sister,” Arulas practically purred, enjoying this bit of Jedi theater. “Ah, Cerulean! An excellent establishment. I could not have chosen better myself.”

The level they stepped out on was higher and further away from the neon cacophony below. Lights were softer and more regular up here, without the menacing patches of darkness that hinted at the brutality lurking down below. There were green potted plants and the lines of speeder traffic were far away, twinkling golden jewels set against an indigo and silver-grey skyline. The buildings were faced with stone from off-planet and the pedestrians on the streets held themselves with the straight posture of those who had money and expected to be treated with a large measure of deference. These streets and walkways practically radiated power and money and it made the two Jedi very uncomfortable.

“Surely there is some other place else we could go,” Old Man asked, grooming his beard as the three stepped off the turbolift and watched it sink back into the bright, bejewelled darkness of Coruscant’s nightlife.

He was now _very_ uncomfortable with the fact that Palpatine had taken his ward here and at such a young age as well. There was a seedy, almost predatory feeling tinging his memory now and he had to take several calming breaths, reminding himself that there was nothing he could do about what happened in the past.

“Cerulean will do nicely,” Arulas waved off Old Man’s protest, leading them down the sidewalk. “But first we need to do something about your habits.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Little Sister asked, her chin raised with a touch of defiance and the Old Man smiled behind his hand at how much Anakin had rubbed off on her.

“You look deliciously corruptible, my dear,” the Sith purred, bowing his head at her. “But our dear Master Kenobi will stand out like a sore thumb. The beard and this gruel-colored sack cloth are screaming ‘Jedi’ and we can’t have that.”

“And do you have a plan to… make me over?” Old Man asked, his brow arched. “I imagine it’s going to involve something illegal?”

“Why ask questions that you already know the answers to?” Arulas chuckled as he led the two Jedi over to a building support column that was faced with veined marble, the exotic minerals glowing faintly in the soft blue shadows of the evening. “Wait here and I will return shortly, and do _not_ make friends whilst I am gone.”

Little Sister and Old Man frowned, watching the Sith walk off down the street and turn a corner. They looked at each other before turning to the railing and gazing out at the sprawling city-planet below them.

They were quiet for several long minutes, lost in their own thoughts and worries before Old Man spoke, his voice concerned. “How are you doing?”

“I am fine, but I am worried about Anakin and Ahsoka,” she replied, looking out towards the distant, irregular horizon. “She and some kidnapped younglings were trapped on the moon of Trandosha and hunted for sport. She and two of the younglings survived, thanks to the timely intervention of the Wookies, but Anakin has been brooding about it ever since.”

Old Man nodded, looking out along the skyline, picking out the dark shapes of buildings he recognized. “That has happened in my world as well. He will get over it in time.”

Little Sister let out a snort and turned to face Old Man, her brows pulled together in an expression he could only describe as chastising. “It is not an illness one can simply outlast, Obi-Wan. Anakin did not sleep well before and now it is damn near impossible to get him to sleep.”

Peering over at his sister self, Old Man drew his mouth into a thin line. “I am well aware of Anakin’s lack of rest but what do you propose to do? Sedate him? Knock him upside the head with your saber hilt? There is no time for proper reflection and meditation. Not with that kriffing mess on Umbara and everything that comes after it.”

“What happens on Umbara?” Little Sister asked, terribly worried. “And what do you mean, everything that comes after it? What year are you coming from?”

Old Man gave her the last date he remembered and Little Sister let out a gasp of shock. “You’re ahead of us!”

Obi-Wan grimaced and turned away, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Bollocks,” the female Jedi said, putting a hand on her hip. “If we’re walking into a trap, we need to know.”

“I’m sure giving you advanced warning of your timeline is against the Code,” he said, his voice strangled and his eyes closed against the weight of time between the two of them. It suddenly seemed so terribly heavy and bleak. He wondered why he hadn’t realized just how dark the Clone Wars had become. “Anakin and Ahsoka survive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Kriff the Code, Obi-Wan!” she replied, and he was stunned by the sharp edge in her voice and the righteous anger in her eyes. She looked so much like Anakin at that moment, it almost hurt Obi-Wan to look at her. “I am worried about my men and Anakin’s and all of those innocent people caught up in this horrible war. If you can help, then please tell me what’s coming!”

“Now, now, my dear!” Arulas interrupted their furious glaring contest. “That’s enough shop talk for the evening. Here, put this on, Old Man.”

The Old Man frowned down at the long dark crimson coat Arulas shoved at him and the synthleather belt and holster, complete with a blaster and a backup charge pack, and a jaunty navy blue scarf. He gazed at the Sith, who was squabbling with Little Sister on how to appear less like a morally upright pillar of the Temple.

“We can’t all be a Perfect Jedi like the Old Man, now can we?” Arulas tutted as Little Sister smacked his hands away and pulled the collars of her robe back to where they were supposed to be. “Come now, my dear. There is no need to be so modest. I assure you that I have no designs upon your person, however fetching it may be.”

“Thank the Force for small mercies,” Old Man muttered as Arulas turned back to smile at him. “What is the scarf for?”

“To hide those high collars,” the Sith explained, helping his Jedi counterpart tuck the scarf around his neck in such a way that when the coat was buttoned and buckled into place it was virtually impossible to tell that the Old Man was in fact Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Arulas stepped back and rested one arm on his hand, observing his work and frowning. “Something is missing.”

Little Sister looked over with a sigh from where she was taking off layers and rearranging her own habit. “Here… Let me.”

She stepped up to Old Man and smiled up at him. “Do you mind, Obi-Wan?”

Quirking his lips at Little Sister in a half-smile, Obi-Wan bowed his head to her. “I leave myself in your capable hands, my dear.”

Arulas arched an eyebrow at the two. “Do you two need a room?”

“Technically, it wouldn’t be against the Code,” Old Man observed with a sly grin as Little Sister reached her hands up into his hair and proceeded to muss up his sharply parted coif. She pushed his hair this way and that before she finally found a style she was happy with and nodded. The female Jedi took a step back and then thought better of it, pulling the scarf up to the Old Man’s nose and nodding. “There. That’s better. I doubt you would be mistaken for a Jedi looking like that.”

Old Man reached up to gingerly touch his hair that was somehow defying gravity and he wondered if perhaps he should use a bit less product to keep it in place. “Well, Arulas?”

“I am a bit stunned,” the Sith said, one gloved hand covering his mouth. Old Man now appeared to be about ten years younger, cocky and mysterious with his blaster slung low on his hip. “Impressive, Little Sister.”

She shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Thank you. Now if no one minds, I would like to go inside soon. I am quite cold without my outer robe and extra layers.”

Looking over at her, Arulas and Old Man and both had the decency to blush at the careful and tasteful rearrangement of Little Sister’s Jedi uniform. While the higher collar was still there, it was a bit looser, promising a flash of a collar bone and the pale column of her neck and without the extra layers of bulk padding out her frame in places, it was much easier to tell that this particular Obi-Wan Kenobi was a beautiful, fit young woman.

“Just one last thing,” Arulas nodded, stepping forward with his hands out as if he were approaching a wild animal. “Your hair…”

She held up a hand and her expression would brook no argument from the Sith. “Don’t touch my pin.”

Both men watched in naive fascination as a long gold hair pin was pulled out of Little Sister’s braided style, sending a variety of braided ropes of hair falling around her shoulders. The thick ones came undone easily and she left a few to unravel themselves over the course of the evening. She tucked the pin back into the soft fabric belt, cinching her waist before handing her robe and extra layers to Old Man, who started folding them up in the hopes he could fit them in the surprisingly voluminous pockets of his coat.

“Fantastic, dear sister.” Arulas grinned and tossed his black cape over his left shoulder, leaving his right side covered. His outfit was all shades and textures of onyx: a wool crepe cloak with synthleather boots that matched his gloves and the sleeves in a coat buttoned to one side.

They were oddly assorted but dangerously so, as if they had been conjured forth by the fevered imagination of a holo film director: the Dame, the Grifter and the Gun for Hire.

The trio walked down the block, looking for the polished wooden door with the cyan sign that read Cerulean.

There was an intimidating man standing at the door, his eyes cybernetically enhanced and glowing in the permanent twilight of Coruscant nightlife. He looked the three up and down before Arulas placed his hand on his arm. “Be a good chap and open the door for us.”

Old Man and Little Sister’s eyes met as they felt the Force twist and writhe, overwhelming the bouncer’s free will with heedless abandon. The bouncer bowed and pulled open the door. Arulas walked through as his two Jedi twins followed him, a growing feeling of unease in their guts.

“I don’t want you to be unarmed in there,” Old Man murmured, looking over at the woman on his left. “We’ll put my blade up as collateral. I’ll have a blaster so at least I won’t be completely unarmed.”

Little Sister nodded. “Thank you. I hope Arulas is as good at sabacc as he claims.”

“I learned from Qui-Gon,” Arulas said, not looking back at the two. “By the time we parted, I could win two hands out of three.”

“Impressive,” Old Man commented as they made their way through the meandering entry hallway to the first room of the establishment. “Oh, I definitely do not like this place.”

The first room of Cerulean was large with a dance floor taking up a third of the room on their right and a busy bar taking up another third on their left. There were little tables scattered here and there and the whole room was ringed with cozy dark alcoves where small parties, couples, and Force-only-knew-what were huddled up together. The dance music was loud enough to be heard throughout the room but not so much that one couldn’t hear their conversation partner.

A young woman with a red-feathered hoodie walked past them, pausing to look up at Arulas and smiling as if presented with a particularly delicious treat. Her fingers trailed through the air, just close enough to invite the Sith to follow her if he was so inclined.

“You’re right at home here,” Little Sister whispered to Arulas, who was having entirely too much fun at the discomfort of the Jedi next to him.

“I am. Now go to the bar and look pretty. Old Man, you come with me.”

“Where will you be?” she asked, stilling the Sith with a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t see a sabacc table.”

“There are two more rooms in this club and it’s in the second.” Arulas pointed to a particularly dark alcove a rather scary looking Zabrak stood in front of. He gave her a winning smile. “Try not to break any hearts while we’re away.”

Arulas headed towards the far door, making his way past a veritable kaleidoscope of attractive and lithe young people who seemed drawn to the barely concealed menace that drifted in his wake. Old Man looked back at Little Sister, who waved apologetically at him as he trailed after the Sith Lord.

Little Sister watched them go, shaking her head as she walked over to the bar and ordered a Corellian whiskey. She found a bar stool and sat down, turning around to look at the pulsing and flashing lights of the dance floor that painted the beautiful dancers there in impressionistic flashes of magenta and emerald, faces frozen in moments of public intimacy. She wondered what their lives were like, so young and alive when most of the young people she knew were caught up in the Clone Wars back in her world.

_I wonder if this world can escape our fate. If it’s happened for the Old Man and even Arulas, is the war a destiny no galaxy can escape?_

Exhaling her dark thoughts, Little Sister pulled out the credits necessary to pay for her whiskey once the bartender placed it against her hand. She took her drink and turned back to observing the attractive throng of people seeking company for the evening.

There were couples of all types, some giggling and shy, taking the first steps in a dance that went back to the beginning of time, while others were already halfway there, wrapped around each other like kyysh vines. She smiled and wished them all well, praying to the Force that this was the one world the Clone Wars did not visit.

“Hey! The race replay from yesterday is starting in a minute! Put it on the monitor!” a voice called out and Little Sister turned her gaze back to the bar, looking towards the large screen at the end where a warm, male voice said, “I brake for Blue Milk” as the visuals took a moment to patch in from the holonet.

She wondered what kind of race it was and which track it was taking place on. Her Anakin had continued to love podracing, even after Qui-Gon liberated him from Tatooine, and she had seen no harm in letting him follow the racers. While she saw little attraction in these particular death-defying feats of adrenaline-fueled nonsense, it was important to her Padawan and so she had more than a passing knowledge of the sport. She leaned around a male Pantoran chatting with a violet Twi’lek, gazing up at the screen.

The race was being held on Taris and she watched the list of surprisingly familiar racers scroll across the screen. She was about to turn back to her drink when a longer name caught her eye and she narrowed her eyes to make sure she had in fact seen what she thought she saw.

“And in pole position is last year’s champion, the legendary _Anakin Skywalker!_ ,” The announcer drawled out the last syllable of Anakin’s name and the camera switched to the face of a twin of her former Padawan, smiling proudly and waving to the cheering crowds as he stood up inside his pod. Little Sister could see that this Anakin had been racing since he was nine, when he won the Boonta Eve classic.

She watched, stunned and frozen in place, as the announcers gave her a brief overview of this world’s Anakin, a slave until he saved up enough money to purchase his freedom at 14, after which he was picked up by a Corellian racing outfit. He held the record for most wins by a human and the record for the longest winning streak in the past century.

After working with the Corellians he started up his own company to race pods of his own design, which he started to sell to the competition just last year. This was his last year of podracing and, according to the scrolling words at the bottom of the screen, Skywalker was getting ready to move into starship racing. Reports were that the twenty-three year old was just as good in a ship as he was in a pod.

“Found you,” Little Sister murmured in delight, smiling up at the screen. The Anakin of this world looked so happy and carefree, his wavy hair tossed back as the crowds cheered around him. He was a celebrity here and not a Jedi Knight. There would be no dramatic rescues or amazing victories snatched from the jaws of defeat. This Anakin wouldn’t know how to use the Force beyond a basic instinctual level and that made her a little blue. She couldn’t imagine her life without the constant hum of chaos and destiny at her side that was Anakin Skywalker.

_This world’s Obi-Wan has no idea what he was missing._

Turning away from the race and listening with one ear, Little Sister picked up her drink and returned her gaze to the crowd, which had grown in the ensuing hour. Clearly the night was starting to pick up and she hoped that meant the few hungry and lingering looks she was getting would stop.

_You would think the lightsaber would convince them to look elsewhere._

Little Sister took another sip of her drink and wondered how Arulas and Old Man were doing. She hoped everything was going according to plan, and she really wished Anakin would stop grinning over at her. He was going to blow her cover at this rate.

_Wait, what? Anakin?_

Little Sister put her drink down and told herself that she was seeing things because in this world Anakin was clearly on Taris, racing around some track trying to break his neck in a pod. Just because she missed her partner did not give her a good reason to hallucinate his presence when he wasn’t there.

_But he would get a good laugh at it all the same. I can just hear what he would say, “Thinking about me on the mission, Master? I think that’s against the Code, right, Snips?”_

Little Sister smiled to herself and shook her head, knowing with absolute certainty that Ahsoka would agree with Anakin and she would find herself outnumbered by matching sly, teasing grins.

Force, she missed those two.

 _I hope they’re alright and they don’t do anything rash while I’m gone._ Little Sister looked back up at the crowd, scanning it for any sign of Old Man and Arulas. They were nowhere to be seen but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone watching her through the crowd and she turned back to her drink. The Force was alive with the feelings of the people dancing and gyrating behind her and she closed her eyes, centering herself in the calm, cool eternity of that energy field.

She opened her eyes and found herself nearly jostled off her stool and she frowned at the large Twi’lek who had shoved his way in next to her, ignoring her in favor of the blue-skinned girl at his side.

Hiding her disgust at his lack of manners, Little Sister turned back to her drink and frowned when she realized it was empty. She pondered the glass for a moment and was ordering another spiced whisky when a tall, broad-shouldered man slid up next to her, his presence crackling with energy in the Force as she caught a glimpse of his roguishly charming grin in her peripheral vision.

Little Sister summoned up her sweetest and most charming smile, preparing to send the suitor away with a well-placed “Thanks but no thanks,” when she heard a familiar voice.

“Make that two and put it on my tab,” the young man next to her said, his voice warm and inviting.

Little Sister turned slowly in her seat, looking up into blue eyes she knew better than her own, a face tanned by countless outdoor races and charmingly messy brown hair streaked with blond highlights. There was no scar but the smile were all Anakin Skywalker, confident and proud as he leaned against the bar and grinned down at Little Sister who, for the first time since she discovered she had traveled through time and space, felt out of her depth and a bit panicked. She had seen this expression turned on others but she had never experienced the full wattage herself and she found it a bit dizzying.

“Hi, I’m Anakin Skywalker,” he said, holding out his right hand, warm and real and taking hers before she could stop him from kissing it. Little Sister watched him lean back, supremely confident in his own charm and attractiveness. For a moment she felt a dark bubble of hysterical laughter try to escape her self-control, but she managed to restrain it and gave this new Anakin her best smile in the hopes he would stick around long enough for Old Man and Arulas to show up.

Maybe if all three of them were there at the same time with this world’s Anakin they would all simply reboot back to their own respective worlds.

With that plan in mind, Little Sister mirrored her posture to Anakin’s and spoke, her voice soft and inviting. “Thanks for the drink. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Grinning, Anakin took both drinks from the bartender and handed her one as he held up his. “To new friends?”

Little Sister strangled another black giggle as she raised her glass and clinked it against his. “To very charming new friends.”

_And hopefully, a way back home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How's everybody doing this lovely Monday evening/Tuesday Morning? I'm so thrilled with the warm reception the first chapter received! I wasn't really sure how this silly idea would go over but I'm so glad people liked it! YAAAAAAAY!
> 
> Anyway, a few things to point out...
> 
> Old Man is coming from Season 5 of the Clone Wars. He's just lived through episode 16 and the death of Satine. Episode 17 has not happened yet. 
> 
> Little Sister is coming from the season break between season 3 and season 4. 
> 
> Arulas has chosen to remain a mystery at this time because... Sith Lords. 9_9
> 
> The bar/club/gambling establishment Cerulean is inspired by a scene from the recent Obi-Wan and Anakin comic book where Palpatine takes Anakin to a cantina/bar thingy. I haven't read the comic but I saw a few pages covering this particular "adventure" and it inspired Cerulean in this chapter. Also, Anakin, how did you not think it was creepy that Palpatine took you to a cantina with gambling? What was wrong with you boy? Stranger danger! 
> 
> Thanks for all of your wonderful comments, kudos and encouragement! Stay tuned for our next chapter where Arulas gambles, Old Man grumbles and Little Sister has to withstand the flirty might of galaxy-wide celebrity Anakin Skywalker.
> 
> As always, you can chat with me at my tumblr: [FireflyFish!](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/) Please stop by! I'm harmless and I've had all my shots! ^_~


	3. The Podracer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Arulas plies his dark side trade with a smile, Old Man broods over days gone by and Anakin Skywalker, recently retired podracing legend, makes some new friends and signs a few autographs.

Obi-Wan Kenobi felt naked.

The comforting weight of his lightsaber on his hip was gone, leaving him off-balanced and exposed in a way that no heavily perfumed synthleather coat and itchy blue scarf could compensate for. The absence of his saber made him hyper-vigilant and he had to fold his arms over his chest to keep them from straying to his blaster or curling into tense fists. He repeated the code to himself and then swore to the Force that when this was all done, he was going to punch Arulas in his perfect teeth, Code and Jedi behavior bedamned.

It was bad enough the Sith was calling him ‘Old Man’ but to have to stand guard in a stinking stolen coat while the smug bastard lost another round of Sabaac was almost too much for the venerable Jedi Master to stand.

He was not old and in spite of what Little Sister might think, he was perfectly happy with his usual hairstyle, thank you very much.

The current hand of sabaac had ended and while Arulas was up nearly triple the amount they had started with, he did not seem pleased. The cards were not falling in his favor and while Qui-Gon would have quit playing four hands ago, the Sith with his face seemed determined to keep playing.

This left Obi-Wan the onerous task of glowering at any nosey sentient who seemed too interested in their game and when that didn’t work, to make sure they did not bother the Sith doppelganger while he worked whatever dark arts he claimed to possess.

_I hope Little Sister is having a better go of it outside._

Obi-Wan liked Little Sister, liked the idea of a fiercer, younger version of himself who was better able to keep up with the boundless fount of energy that Anakin seemed to run on. True, her control on her emotions were a bit looser than his but not so much so that she was unrecognizable as a person who could answer to the name of Obi-Wan. Her affection for Anakin and Ahsoka was just as warm as his and it cheered him to think that he and Little Sister were the norm in the great cosmic web of the Force and not Arulas with his brooding, sulking nature.

Arulas was an abomination, a twisting of everything that was good and true about himself. He may have been born with Obi-Wan’s name but somewhere along the path the man sitting at the sabaac table, draped in black and making a money chip dance across his gloved fingers, had lost his way. He was a negative imprint of the Jedi, sharp and cruel where Obi-Wan was gentle and kind.

If he were given to making such strong statements, Obi-Wan might have said he hated Arulas.

But hatred led to the dark side that was all too real now, sitting a few feet away and just waiting for him to make a false move.

“Your boss is going to lose that pretty weapon of his at this rate,” a particularly odiferous body guard sneered at Obi-Wan, from where he stood behind an Ithorian who was currently riding a tide of luck. “I’m gonna look forward to using it.”

Obi-Wan shot a look over at the pungent man, whose biggest weapon was the stench of pickled Volfargen mash and sour Telosian cheese coming off of him in waves. It almost made the Jedi miss the annoying Hondo Ohnaka and his melodramatic boasting, when he wasn’t trying to kill Obi-Wan.

Well, almost.

Another hand lost and another pile of credits was shifted into the pot.

Obi-Wan prayed for patience.

Arulas stood up and stretched, turning to smile at the Jedi behind him. “Watch my seat. I’m must visit the refresher.”

Obi-Wan watched him go with narrowed blue eyes positively seething with negative emotions he should have had a better handle on. He took another long deep breath and watched as drinks were ordered and comely young things of every size, shape and gender paraded by the table, hoping to catch the eye of a generous gambler. They ignored him and he was fine with that, finding this display of tawdry flesh and sex to be more tragic than alluring.

And Chancellor Palpatine had taken Anakin to a place like this, to this hive of scum and villainy and the boy hadn’t told him about it. Anakin had just brooded angrily and they had gotten into an argument about politics and the role of the Jedi in the galaxy. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, to think that Anakin had kept something like this from him.

To think that Anakin did not trust him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and found no peace in the Code.

“Hey! You!”

He opened his eyes and frowned behind his blue scarf at the Phinidian running the table. The Jedi arched an eyebrow as a way of communicating since he was playing the strong, silent type.

“Yeah! You! Is your boss in or not? Next hand is starting and if he’s not back in thirty seconds, you’re off the table,” the long-headed green creature said, his voice sharp.

Obi-Wan looked around for Arulas, unsure of which refresher the Sith had wandered off to. If they left the game now, they would have some credits but it would barely be enough and there was no way there would be enough money to keep them fed and sheltered and get Obi-Wan’s saber out of hock. Which would mean another night of seedy gambling and more of this nonsense.

“Ten seconds buddy.”

Obi-Wan sat down in Arulas’ chair and tapped the table, to indicate he would play the next round. The dealer let out a guffaw of disbelief and dealt the cards.

He was going to win this hand.

* * *

 

Arulas stepped out of the refresher and smirked at a lovely young woman who was very intent on rubbing up against him while she picked his pocket. He took a moment to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before he disengaged, keeping his saber and his credits to himself. He stepped around set of twins who wore far too much makeup and invited him to partake of all kinds of delights but he was simply too busy and not in the mood to let their brother (so they were triplets) make off with his pocket book.

Ah, yes, he could understand why his Master would have brought the Chosen One to a place like this, the beautiful gilt that covered the corrupt underbelly of power on Coruscant. Arulas could make out two more tables in this particular room, both higher stakes than what he was playing but they were trying to stay under the radar and winning too much, too fast was a sure-fire way to get you noticed by the wrong people.

Like the Zabrak and Wookie muscle standing by the far door, glaring at him.

His face might have looked like he was enticed by a particularly aggressive female Togruta attempting to earn her keep for the night but it was hiding the thunderous frown and anger that pooled behind his mask at the sight of Old Man sitting in his seat at the sabacc table. The damn fool was going to no doubt win the next hand and try to take the whole pot which would anger everyone around them and obliterate any chance they stood of leaving the place without notice.

Arulas spit out one of his favorite Sith curses and strode over to his truculent body guard.

“I thought I told you not to let anyone sit here,” Arulas hissed at the Old Man who, as the Sith expected, was easily winning the hand he was dealt. He could sense the growing unease of the Ithorian and human on either side of him. The whole table had discovered that the bodyguard was much better than the master and they were suspicious of a trick. “Did it not occur to you, my simple minded brute, that you were included in that order?”

“Call,” Old Man announced, his voice rough and muffled by his scarf but he did not acknowledge Arulas.

A low groan went up from around the table as cards were turned over, one by one losing to the Old Man’s hand. The dealer pushed the crystalline pile of credits over to the Sith and his insubordinate bodyguard who started stacking them up into neat piles.

Wondering if this silent superiority complex drove the Old Man’s Anakin as nutty as it was driving Arulas, he leaned down to hiss in the Jedi’s ear. “You idiot! That’s too much money. There is no way they’re going to let us go.”

The Old Man turned to look up at Arulas and realized there was something else going on, a banked anger that was being taken out on sabacc and the people around him. The Sith watched in strange fascination as his Jedi counterpart called over a waitress and proceeded to order a very expensive round of drinks for everyone at the table and gave her an equally generous tip. He could sense the ice cold fury that was lurking under the pale blue-grey of his eyes.

The Old Man did not want to come back to this place and be reminded that his precious little Anakin had lied to him. That the golden boy with a supernova for a spirit was tainted by a place like this.

Oh.

_Oh!_ Arulas smiled, his teeth white and sharp, and accepted the stack of credits. “Come with me. And if you pull a stunt like that again I shall have to find myself a new, mute, bodyguard with a better sense of his place in the world. How dare you waste my money on that cheap strumpet!”

Arulas strolled off, confident the Old Man was behind him as they made their way to where he had traded in the Jedi’s blade for a stack of credits they had now quadrupled. The cyborg at the window took Arulas’s chip and pulled out the box that housed the lightsaber, placing it down in the window before the Sith and Jedi. They waited as the cyborg calculated the price to get the blade back and when it came back triple, the Jedi swore.

“What the bloody hell was the point of all of this then?” the Old Man snapped at Arulas, who did not appreciate being bothered when he was in the middle of some complex dark side manipulation.

The cyborg, who had far more mental implants in his head than it appeared did not at first yield to the Sith’s persuasion. The Jedi didn’t say anything but he did risk a glance or two back at the Zabrak and Wookie, who were talking to someone small and diminutive but occasionally shooting a glance at the suddenly very successful sabacc player at the bank window.

“You will return my saber to me, now,” The Sith’s voice was soft and hard at the same time, like durasteel covered in rich velvet. The cyborg turned his head a few times and Obi-Wan could sense the darkness rising, coiling around them, slithery tentacles of pitch black might invading the weaknesses exposed by the poor union of flesh and technology. He watched in horrified awe as Arulas seemed to short out the being in front of them with little more than a polite smile and a practiced wave of his fingers.

There was a pregnant pause and Obi-Wan wondered if hybrid creature in front of them was going to reject Arulas’ pulsing Sith magics or if the poor fellow was simply going to fall over dead but the cyborg seemed to come back into balance and handed over the Jedi’s saber with a polite “Have a good evening.”

Obi-Wan snatched it back and shoved it into his left pocket, far more relieved than he would care to admit.

“Well… That was an enjoyable challenge!” Arulas smirked, looking back at the Old Man, his sulphur eyes bright. “Now shall we find our charming Little Sister and depart this lovely little nest of greed and sin?”

“Yes, please,” Obi-Wan sighed and stepped in front of his twin, throwing his shoulders back and trying to give the room his best “Anakin In a Bad Mood” glower as they started to make their way back to the first room which was positively chaste and virtuous compared to what was going on back here.

“I hope she hasn’t made too many friends while we were gone,” Arulas mused, returning a hungry young thing’s approving leer with one of his own as the two navigated the crush of bodies and furniture. “She is such a pretty young woman.”

“Oh shut up,” Obi-Wan glared back at his twin. “Must you turn every conversation into innuendo laden trash?”

“Yes,” Arulas sniffed, scratching his nose with his gloved hand. “I am Sith, Old Man. If you weren’t such a bloody prude I would not be so compelled.”

The two slipped past a table of attractive youths, huddled around a dramatic holovid and they let out a cheer as one of the characters was run through with a blade, the arterial flow turning the whole screen black for a moment before the scene switched to the victor. Arulas quietly palmed an unattended data pad, dropping it into a pocket and smirking to himself when he realized that the Old Man hadn’t noticed the act.

_So much for vaunted Jedi senses._

They were about five feet from the door when the Old Man came to a stop and looked back into the room they were leaving. He frowned, his head tilted to the side and Arulas came to a stop next to him. “What is it?”

“Is that… Little Sister?” Old Man pointed to a woman wearing what appeared in the dim light to be loose Jedi robes, her hair falling in a wavy curtain of copper.

Arulas thought that was what he saw but he was uncertain because suddenly there was a tall, broad shouldered oaf blocking his view. He had an arm around the woman’s shoulder and the Sith looked over at his counterpart. “Who is that with her? I thought I told her not to make any friends while we were gone.”

The Old Man’s brows were furrowed and he straightened the line of his beard before he nodded. “It has to be her. She has a lightsaber.”

“Oh wonderful,” Arulas grumbled as Old Man started to make his way through the crowd, politely and firmly shoving his way past amorous couples and tiny clutches of people looking for things that did more than just bring on a pleasant buzz. The Sith let out a long breath and followed, waving away a small mousy character who wanted to sell him death sticks.

The Old Man swung wide around a waist high banquette, shoving past more people as he watched Little Sister smiling up at the tall man next to her, her hand on his sleeve as she continued to scan the room. She seemed all right and her posture was casual and relaxed so it was clear she wasn’t in danger but he knew he needed to make it to her all the same. He could sense Arulas behind him and he decided they should leave the club as soon as they were able to and find a place to rest for the night. He was practically itching with anxiety and the Force seemed to be alive with nervous energy, crawling with so many thoughts, feelings and emotions that he couldn’t really keep it all out, which unnerved him all the more.

“Slow down you brooding Wookie!” Arulas muttered as he tried to stay in the Old Man’s wake. “She is a fully trained Jedi for pity’s sake! She’ll be fine!”

The Old Man made it to Little Sister’s side and he was relieved to see that she was in fact fine, chatting with the tanned, blond haired wall of muscle and shoulders next to her.

“Little Sister,” Obi-Wan murmured, coming to stand protectively at her side. “I’m sorry we were detained for so long but our… brother was not card shark he believed himself to be.”

“Oh honestly, Old Man!” Arulas sniffed, walking up behind Obi-Wan and Little Sister, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his longer, faded copper hair. “I had a plan that you and your lack of patience nearly ruined! Hello, my dear! Up to no good already? Who is your tall and well formed companion?”

Little Sister burst out into a peal of laughter and gently turned her companion around. “Anakin? These are my brothers, the ones I told you about earlier?”

Old Man and Arulas looked up at the broad, confident smile of Anakin Skywalker, the legendary Pod Racer and five-time winner of the Boonta Eve Classic as well as the three-time Blue Milk InterSystem Pod Circuit Champion and the all-time points winner for the Outer Rim Pod One Master’s Circuit. His blue eyes nearly glowed in the neon light thrown off by a distant wall sconce and his hair was a charmingly messy disarray of sun streaked brown curls. There was no scar but other than that, the man in front of the three Obi-Wans could have been the same as the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker who lived in their worlds.

“Hey! So you two are Obi-Wan’s brothers?” Anakin grinned, wrapping an arm around Little Sister and pulling her closer. “She didn’t tell me you were so hot!”

Arulas blinked for a long moment and looked over at the Old Man, who looked frozen in place as if he was trying to decide whether to die of heart attack or a stroke.

“Anakin, stop that!” Little Sister chided, smacking the Podracer on the chest. “Honestly, you are incorrigible. These are my twin brothers Arulas and…”

“Ben,” the Old Man said, his voice strangled.

Little Sister nodded and even Arulas had to praise the Jedi for his quick thinking. “Ben is older by five minutes.”

Arulas shook his head. “And he never stops lording it over me.”

Anakin laughed, a happy sound free of any sarcastic shadow or darker undercurrents and the Sith had to admit it sounded strange to him. His few encounters with Qui-Gon’s Chosen One had left Arulas with the impression that the Skywalker of his world was already half Sith. This one was light and buoyant in the Force, a frothy confection of happiness and hormones.

Hormones that were currently focused on apparently, all three of them.

“What are you doing here?” Old Man asked, looking from Little Sister to Anakin and then back again and the Sith wondered who exactly his Jedi counterpart was talking to.

Anakin grinned and relaxed back against the wall the crowds had slowly pushed them up against. The pose somehow made him seem both harmless and predatory, like a lazy nexu who couldn’t decide whether or not he should chase after a tasty morsel. “I’m celebrating! I won my last Taris Classic yesterday and today I retired from podracing.”

“You’re a… Podracer?” Old Man echoed, looking torn and a bit horrified. “You fly around in those tiny death traps hooked up to ship engines by tow cables? For a living?”

“I take you’re not a fan?” the Podracer replied.

Arulas decided that the Jedi was in danger of ruining the mood of the conversation and he waded in. “What are you two doing back here? Looking for some privacy?”

The Sith quietly revelled in the wave of scandalized embarrassment coming from his new “siblings”.

“Not yet!” Anakin ran a hand through his hair, a hand Arulas noted was not mechanical. The ruffled sun streaked curls were not fazed by this attempt at grooming and they fell against Skywalker’s brow in such a ridiculously handsome way the Sith had to resist his own urge to brush them back into place. “Why? Are you offering?”

Little Sister burst out laughing as even Arulas seemed stunned by the brazen flirting of this world’s Anakin. It was clear she had been on the receiving end of far too much charm and sex appeal and she was glad that her male counterparts were being cursed with Skywalker’s smiles and warm banter.

“I don’t think you could keep up with me,” Arulas sniffed, deciding that haughty was the way to go with an amorous Skywalker. “And besides, you seem quite attached to our dearest sister.”

“I’m always up for more,” Anakin grinned, leaning forward, always up for a challenge in every sense of the word.

“That’s enough!” Old Man snapped, looking over at Arulas with an ice blue gaze that could freeze lava. “We need to leave.”

“Why? What did you do?” Little Sister looked from Old Man to Arulas. “Did you cheat?”

“Of course not!” Old Man looked offended. “I simply stopped letting Arulas lose our money. I had no intention of letting that cyborg sell my saber to the first Hutt his boss came across.”

“You’re gamblers?” Anakin’s grin grew larger. “How much did you take?”

Arulas canted his head to the side, calculating how much money they won. “Fifteen thousand credits, give or take whatever the Old Man here tipped that pretty waitress in the too-short skirt.”

Anakin let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to walk away with. Who was running your table?”

“A rather angry looking Phindian and an Ithorian with a bodyguard who smelt of sour Telosian cheese,” Arulas shrugged, feeling the Force prickling at the back of his neck. He turned around slowly and saw a Weequay and a human talking to a Nikto who was in the cage where the cyborg was slumped over, his eyes closed.

The Sith Lord frowned. “We are leaving. Right now.”

“Now?” Little Sister was suddenly very concerned. “What happened?”

“Later,” Arulas insisted, taking the Old Man’s arm in his and marching towards the front of the establishment. “We are no longer welcome here.”

“That’s because Luche Setras doesn’t like losing,” Anakin chuckled, easily keeping pace with the three. “And the Ithorian with the stinking bodyguard? That’s Umo Tift and he works for Jabba the Hutt.”

“Oh fantastic,” Arulas snarled, giving the Old Man’s arm a hard squeeze. “Good job, _elder_ brother. Now the Hutts will be after us.”

“How was _I_ supposed to know that?” Old Man grimaced, yanking his arm free with the aid of the Force. “That hurt, _youngling_.”

“Talk less and walk faster,” Little Sister hissed, looking back at the Wookie and Zabrak who were moving into the middle of the room to join up with the Nikto and the Weequay. “And come up with a clever escape plan, my dear brothers.”

Anakin grinned at Little Sister. “Is every evening out with you this exciting?”

“Well when you’re a Jedi…” she shrugged.

The Podracer grinned. “This is just like season three of Desire before Dishonor.”

“Do I even want to know what that is?” Arulas groaned as he led Little Sister and Old Man to the door.

“It’s my favorite holo show,” Anakin exclaimed and all three of the assorted Obi-Wans could sense his delight. “I have all seven seasons on holo disk and season eight is coming out next year.”

“And how exactly is this like this holo show?” Old Man caught sight of the angry Zabrak who was trying to shove his way through the crowd. “Nevermind! You can recap it later.”

“Why?” the sun streaked man following after them asked. “What did you do?”

“We… might have overstayed our welcome,” Arulas equivocated as they made it into the first room, which was throbbing with bass and practically blinding with strobing colorful lights. Little Sister almost lost track of Arulas and Old Man but was thankfully pulled along in the wake of Anakin, who grinned at her.

“Just like season three,” He whispered in her ear.

“Keep up!” Arulas shouted over the music and Old Man turned around, reaching past the Force only knew what to grab the Podracer by the jacket and drag him into the long entryway they had walked through only a few hours before. There was a commotion behind them but whether it was because of the angry guards or the fact that someone shrieked “It’s Anakin Skywalker!” it didn’t matter. The crowd erupted into shouts and squeals of excitement as the quartet hustled out.

Arulas and the Old Man burst out the front door first, the Sith running to the edge of the walkway, scanning the horizon for the nearest speeder as the Jedi immediately began yanking off the horrible coat and blue scarf. Anakin and Little Sister tumbled out into the cool night air a few seconds later. Old Man scowled at the ground as he hooked his saber back to his belt and then bent over to pick up the blaster and belt in case they were actually going to be caught in a fight. “Next time you have a brilliant plan to get us run out of nightclub, I really think you should share it with the group.”

“I did have a plan and if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to show off back there we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Arulas retorted before he laid eyes on Anakin and his expression lit up. “Podracer!”

Anakin stood up from picking up the discarded coat and scarf, offering it back to Old Man who waved them away as if they were radioactive. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a speeder nearby?”

“Yeah. It’s the blue one down there.” Anakin pointed to a two seater speeder that was painted with some swirling designs that could have been clouds if one squinted hard enough. “Why?”

“We need to borrow it,” Arulas explained, his expression sharp and hard. “You understand, of course. I’m sure this was in an episode of duty before desire or whatever it’s called.”

Little Sister shook her head. “We’re not stealing Anakin’s speeder! What did you two _do_?”

“We were perhaps a bit too successful and Arulas might have broken the cyborg running the bank,” Old Man explained, as he eyed the distance to the blue speeder. “There’s only two seats. We can’t all fit in there.”

“Sister can sit in your lap then,” Arulas decided as he started moving in the direction of the speeder. “C’mon! We need to get out of here.”

“And where are you going to sit?” Anakin asked Arulas, trailing after the fascinating triplets that seemed to have leapt off the screen of his favorite holo show. “Because there is no way in hell I am letting any of your fly my speeder.”

Arulas was getting ready to shout something nasty and short when Old Man shot him a Look and gave him a short, furious shake of his head. “Don’t.”

“I’ll sit in Anakin’s lap and you two can sit in each other’s lap,” Little Sister groaned, looking back at the door one last time and then let out a yelp as the guards burst out past the bouncers. “Oh bugger! They’re armed!”

“Armed?” Anakin looked back at the angry people advancing towards them and smiled. “Oh! I know them. They work for Jabba. Was that his cyborg you broke?”

“Yes!” Old Man and Arulas shouted in unison as they frantically gestured at Anakin and Little Sister to join them.

“How did you do that?” Little Sister gaped and her hand strayed to the saber on her hip as she turned around to face down the thugs heading their way. “Anakin… you might want to get behind me. This might get messy.”

“Skywalker!” the Nikto shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Stop right there!”

“Is that thing real? Are you going to fight them?” the Podracer wondered, a thread of excitement in his voice. “I’ve never seen a lightsaber fight in person.”

“What is he babbling about?” Arulas hissed at Old Man, who had a rather horrified and stunned look on his face as Little Sister and Anakin seemed to hold their ground on the advancing thugs. “I cannot believe this. Sister! We don’t have time for this! Tell Anakin to get in the speeder!”

“Do as they say!” Little Sister ordered, risking a look back at Anakin as she took her saber hilt from her belt. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The Zabrak, Wookie, Weequay and Nikto all came to a stop about ten feet from Little Sister, their hands on their blasters and their auras riddled with a desire to start shooting. They weren’t really paying much attention to the female who stood in front of them, looking past her to Anakin and the twins that were standing close to the blue speeder.

“You! You two! You broke our banker!” the Nikto said, pointing an accusatory finger at Arulas and the Old Man. “Jabba paid good money for him and you’re going to pay him back.”

Little Sister narrowed her eyes and wondered if she could pull off a four way simultaneous mind wipe. Perhaps if the Old Man helped her. She risked a look back and was rather startled to see Anakin stepping up to her side and holding out his hands.

“Gentleman! There’s no need for all of this! I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that benefits both parties,” the Podracer grinned, holding his hands out and open. “Let’s make a deal. I fix your cyborg and you let me and my sexy triplets leave in peace.”

“Sexy?!” Old Man began.

“Triplets?!” Arulas finished, both equally offended.

Little Sister watched in awe as Anakin stole her ‘Negotiator’ mantle right out from under her nose.

“It’s not a pod you can whack with a wrench, Skywalker,” the Nikto growled at the Podracer, his brown eyes dark in the night. “Besides, they didn’t pay to get that saber back!”

“Gamblers _and_ thieves, eh?” Anakin chuckled, charm and confidence flowing unconsciously from the sun streaked young man to the thugs in front of him. His easy grace and casual manner was soothing and relaxing and Little Sister watched as first the Wookie and then the Weequay seemed to retreat, the hard glint in their eyes softening as they took a step back. The Nikto seemed unaffected and the Zabrak was clearly itching for a fight. He shot her a look and she returned it with a glare of her own, her hand inches from the activation button on her saber.

The Zabrak blinked and backed down, turning to his Nikto compatriot and saying in hushed Huttese that, “The little bitch is a Jedi. Just let him fix the damn thing and get them out of our hair.”

Little Sister nodded. _Good. Glad to see_ **_that’s_ ** _stayed the same._

The Nikto scowled and Anakin took another step forward, another wave of compulsion flowing through the Force. His voice was warm and inviting. “I might even have time to sign a few autographs…”

_Let’s not lay it on quite so thick._ Little Sister took a step back and tried to look like she was a part of the ‘Sexy Triplets’ which she hadn’t really had time to think about. She subtly waved her own hand, encouraging the group of thugs let them go, to give up this pointless aggression and agree to the famous podracer’s offer of a free repair for their busted cyborg.

For a moment, she felt this new Anakin through the Force, feeling his confusion and surprise as he looked over at her. Then he shook his head and returned to charming the men in front of him.

“Well? What do you say? Do we have a deal?” Anakin asked, taking another step forward, holding out one arm for a handshake.

The Nikto nodded, reaching out to take the famous podracer’s hand. “Deal. Could you make it out to my kid? He’s a huge fan of yours and his birthday is coming up.”

“Of course!” Anakin laughed and turned back to the trio gaping in shock. “Let me take care of this and then we’ll have dinner at my place.”

“Dinner?” Arulas echo, flabbergasted. “Who said anything about dinner?”

“You owe me. It’s the least you can do,” Anakin grinned, an expression so pleased and so excited that it almost made the Sith Lord blush. Arulas rolled his eyes and waved his hand, clearly trying to dismiss the boy. “Fine. Go. Shoo.”

“Promise you’ll be here when I come back, Ben?” Anakin turned turned his blue eyes on the Old Man who was thankful for his beard and covered his mouth with his hand, hoping that hid any wayward emotions on his face as he nodded. “Yes. I will be here, Anakin.”

Little Sister shooed Anakin on before he could try another attempt at wooing her. She flicked her hands out. “We’ll be here. I promise. Jedi’s honor. Go and fix that poor fellow from whatever curse Arulas put him under. We will not leave.”

“Great!” Anakin grinned, heading back to Cerulean, making soothing, compliance inducing small talk with the thugs, unconsciously bending them to his will with the Force. He looked back at the strangely beautiful and intriguing siblings that had stumbled into his life and waved to them. Once he took care of this busted cyborg and paid the bill for the pawned lightsaber they were all going back to his place for dinner and he couldn’t quite contain the warm heat in his gut.

_Thank you gods of fortune. I am really going to enjoy myself tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Anakin... 
> 
> The Editor was busy doing things for her job and her fics, which you can read here at [Lily Conrad's Page,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad) so any grammar, spelling and ease of readability mistakes are mine and mine alone! I hope you enjoy this and you're always welcome over at my tumblr [FireflyFish](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/) where we will not be having sexy triplets but we'll still be having a lot of fun!
> 
> Later my lovelies! Ta!


	4. I Call Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin decides to take his sexy triplets home and Arulas gets a migraine. Old Man discovers a new appreciation for Anakin's interior design work and Little Sister loans out her weapon.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the one who was neither old, female nor a lord of the Sith, had a migraine.

“No. I did not check out a speeder from the garage and no, I do not know where you might find said speeder!” he snapped at the garage clerk who was glaring up at him with fathomless Rodian eyes. “I told you I was in a meeting with Master Windu and Yoda and neither I, nor my Padawan Learner, would have any reason to take out a speeder today, let alone a three-seater.”

The blue-green Rodian before him pulled his little trumpet mouth into a frown. “Your personal ID code was used, Knight Kenobi. The fingerprints on the data pad are yours. Do you expect me to believe you when all the evidence says otherwise?”

“Have you tried checking the security cameras in the garage?” the Jedi groaned, rubbing his temples and wondering what he had done to deserve this particular tribulation.

“We have and it clearly shows you and two other figures picking out a speeder and departing through the main garage door,” the officious little green alien said, pulling up a data pad with a hologram projector on it. “As you can see, that is you and your two companions.”

The Rodian flicked to another viewpoint and Obi-Wan could see a man who looked like him walking with a shorter woman and another man dressed all in black. All three were dressed like they were Jedi, with lightsabers on their hips and robes flowing around them as they walked. The man who signed out for the speeder even had his hair parted like Obi-Wan’s and his beard was a bit fuller but otherwise identical.

To any impartial third-person observer, it seemed like Obi-Wan had checked out the speeder nearly six hours ago and not elected to return it.

The only problem was Obi-Wan had been in a meeting with Mace Windu and Yoda at that time, discussing his last mission to Kashyyyk with Padme and Ahsoka. There was simply no way for this particular Obi-Wan Kenobi to have checked out the speeder.

“Where is it, Knight Kenobi?” the Rodian asked again, his hands on his hips. “Where did you leave it? That was an expensive model! If you don’t bring it back, I will dock your stipend!”

Obi-Wan frowned at the garage boss. “May I have a copy of these recordings?”

“What for?” the angry green creature scowled as much as a being without eyebrows could. “I’ve heard all about your silver tongue, Kenobi. You won’t charm your way out of this.”

“Please, would you give me a copy of this recording to present to Master Yoda?” the Jedi knight asked again, reminding himself that there was no emotion, there was peace.

At the mention of Master Yoda, the Rodian backed down and handed off a copy to Obi-Wan who promised to stay far away from the garage or speeders for the next month. He took the datapad with the hologram and turned on his heels, marching out of the garage and off to his room where he planned to do quite a bit of meditating on the mysterious trio who seemed to have stolen a speeder from the temple.

_Curious. I wonder where they came from and if they got what they wanted. And what exactly did they want?_

But all of this would have to wait because Master Kenobi had a mission report to review and once that was done and sent off to the Council, he had someone he needed to see. He hurried through the hallways of the Temple, nodding absently to whomever he passed, taking the turbolift to his floor and then stepping into his room. He placed the data pad with the information from the garage on the small desk tucked up against the distant wall and realized that Ahsoka’s data pad was not where it was supposed to be.

Usually, when Ahsoka dropped off her mission reports or research packets, the data pad would be sitting on the small table between the two chairs that were against the wall to the hallway. Sometimes there would be a gift of loose leaf tea or a particular sweet or fruit Ahsoka knew he liked but that was not what was bothering him.

Her data pad was in the middle of his bed, as if someone went to leave the room and remembered at the last second to leave the pad behind. He frowned and picked up the pad, turning it over and touching the outsides of the object with his Force senses. As far as he could tell the only people who had handled the device were himself and Ahsoka.

_But there was that strange man in the garage who had my face…_

Master Kenobi shook his head and turned on the device. He quickly found Ahsoka’s mission report but there was a flag that indicated it had already been sent off to the Council.

And that he himself had been the one to send it off!

_What in all the Sith hells is going on here?_ Master Kenobi sat down heavily on his bed and ran a hand over his face. Something very strange was going on and he needed to inform the Council about it immediately. He let out a sigh and stood up, walking over to his desk where he pulled out a small com device. Turning it on, he waited for his message to be answered and when it was not, he shook his head and left a message of his own.

“It’s Obi-Wan, my darling. I’m afraid I will not be able come see you tonight. Something has come up at the Temple and I must present my findings to the Council immediately. I am so sorry, my dear one. You are in my thoughts and if I find sleep tonight, you will be in my dreams. I will contact you tomorrow. I…I… Good night, my love.”

Master Kenobi returned the com to its hiding place. He picked up the small cubed chronometer and took note of the time, twenty one hundred hours. It wasn’t obscenely late and he was fairly certain that Master Yoda and Windu would still be up, if not the rest of the Council. His decision made, Master Kenobi gathered up the hologram and Ahsoka’s datapad and hurried out the door.

* * *

 

“Sexy triplets!”

“If I were you, Arulas, I would be flattered,” Little Sister chuckled as she leaned against the wall of Cerulean and stared out into the permanent twilight of the Coruscant night. “How often have you been mistaken for sexy anything, Obi-Wan? Hmmm?”

The Old Man turned to his female counterpart and tried to remember the last time he had been propositioned. “I suppose there was that matriarch on Telladoria 4. She was quite forward about her desires for my person.”

“You two make horrible Jedi,” Arulas groused, standing in the middle of the walkway, his arms folded over his chest and his black cloak waving in the crisp night wind. “How is this not against the Code? We need to take the blasted Chosen One’s speeder and go.”

“He’s not the Chosen One here,” Little Sister said, her arms folded over her chest in a gender flipped impersonation of the Old Man next to her. “I checked this Temple’s Archives and there is no Chosen One legend here.”

“Interesting,” Old Man mused, stroking his beard. “Were you able to access the masters’ databases?”

“I… I was,” and the tone that Little Sister used on the last word perked the Old Man and the Sith Lord’s interest. “I had to use Qui-Gon’s code. Ours didn’t work.”

Arulas rolled his eyebrows. “Of course it didn’t. Did you find anything else of interest in the Master’s archives whilst you were pretending to be our dear old Dad?”

Little Sister frowned at Arulas. “I didn’t have time. I just downloaded anything that looked interesting, mostly rumors and legends from before the Ruusan Reformation. Both Sith and Jedi in the hopes that your brethren might have found a way to do what we cannot.”

“Why in the name of Darth Bane would a Sith want to travel through time and worlds?” Arulas asked, his arms folded over his chest as he sunk back into a shadow and glowered out at nothing. “Especially as haphazardly as this.”

“I can think of at least three reasons why,” Old Man murmured, his voice low and soft, his gaze far away as if he were lost in thought.

_Naboo._

_Geonosis._

_Mandalore._

The Old Man closed his eyes and shook his head. Oh, he could think of dozens of reasons to travel through time and change things and not even break a sweat.

“Speaking of that,” Little Sister stood up, her voice crisp and her demeanor sharp and professional. “What happens on Umbara?”

In the spirit of preventing future tragedies the Old Man sighed. “Pong Krell turns to the dark side and allows for the slaughter of many of our clone troopers. He’s executed by his own men.”

Arulas glanced at Little Sister, waiting to see her reaction, wondering if she would be shocked or hurt by the betrayal of one of her vaunted Jedi brethren.

“Well… I’m glad my instincts were correct,” was all the Jedi woman said as she walked over to the crumpled remains of the red synthleather coat the Old Man had been wearing. She rummaged around in the pockets and pulled out the extra layers of her robes until she finally found the rolled up length of her woolen outer robe. “Stars above I am cold. What was that? A blaster rifle sleeve?”

“It seems so,” Old Man said, head tilted to the side. “You’re not going to ask me about the rest?”

There was so much more coming for her and her Anakin. So much pain and anguish that he would give anything to go back and undo.

“I’m sure we will be able to discuss that later,” she shrugged, pulling on her robes and shivering happily as she was shielded in the comforting brown wool of her robes. “I had hoped that just being in Anakin’s presence would somehow… send us back to where we’re from but clearly it did not. It seems we will be here for an extended period of time.”

“Agreed,” Arulas nodded, pulling his cloak down from his left shoulder against the growing chill in the night air. Old Man, who was still wearing his original layered robes, was well insulated against the cold even without his brown outer robe which, true to form, he had lost somewhere along the way. He let out a long breath and frowned back at the entrance of Cerulean. “What is taking that boy so long? What did you do to that cyborg?”

“Are you questioning the results of my hard work?” Arulas sniffed, raising his chin and his yellow eyes glinting in the fluorescent street lights. “I simply had to find the parts of his mind that could override the mechanical monstrosities his owners relied on. Sith tutelage does not cover brain slicing.”

“Must you be so vulgar?” Little Sister asked, her mouth pulled into a sneer.

But before Arulas could come up with a witty retort and ignite a simmering squabble between the three Obi-Wans, the night seemed to brighten as the warmth of the sun broke free from the entrance of the club, embodied in the person of Anakin Skywalker, podracing champion and most definitely not a Jedi.

“Mind your tongue, Sith,” Little Sister hissed over at Arulas.

The Sith Lord smirked. “Fine, but I can assure you that _that_ is the walk of a man who expecting more than polite conversation from his dinner companions. Which one of you is going to take one for the team and… pay for our evening meal?”

“Do you ever stop?” Old Man asked, arching an eyebrow. “Is this some kind of Sith compulsion? Now that you are no longer bound by the Code?”

“You cannot mean to tell me that the Code forbids innuendo,” Arulas chuckled, watching the confident strut of the approaching podracer. “Come now! Who will it be? Because as fetching as your former Padawan is, my black Sith heart belongs to another.”

“What?” Little Sister and Old Man gaped in unison, whirling around to stare at their dark side counterpart. “Who??”

“Myself, of course. I am Sith after all,” Arulas practically purred, his eyes almost golden in the darkness of his hood. “Ah! Young Skywalker! How nice of you to join your… what did you call us?”

“My sexy triplets?” Anakin replied the confidence rolling off of him like waves as he stood with his hands out. “Well… I fixed the cyborg. He just needed a full system reboot.”

“Is he all right?” the Old Man asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine.” Nodding, Anakin stepped past them and over to his speeder. “Besides, Jabba loves me. I’ve won him more money than he knows what to do with.”

“And how have you done that?” Arulas asked, curious, a sharp white smile on his face.

“By winning,” the sunkissed man said, opening the door of his speeder and frowning as he observed the seating. “Hmmm… I think we can make this work if Obi-Wan doesn’t mind sitting on my lap.”

“What?” The Old Man let out a strangled noise and Arulas covered his mouth as he tried to hide his snickering. Little Sister rolled her eyes at her brothers and walked over to Anakin’s side. “I am perfectly fine with that arrangement, but can your speeder carry all four of us?”

“You can sit on my lap, brother,” Arulas whispered in the Old Man’s ear, his voice low and soft in a mock seduction. “I promise not to ravish you before your golden boy gets a chance to.”

Old Man turned to glower at Arulas, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “I’m more concerned about what I might catch from _you_ , dear brother. Bothan plague? Swamp Crab fever? Force only knows where you’ve been.”

Arulas’s eyes widened for a moment and he hissed. “You furry lice-riddled Wookie! How dare you!”

“What are they doing?” Anakin asked Little Sister, running a quick diagnostic on his speeder. Last time he took this particular model out he had ended up at a party thrown for Satine, the Duchess of Mandalore. She had dared him to see how many his speeder could hold before the anti-grav boosters gave out and they got to 7 adult sentients when the boosters started to redline. He was confident his speeder would be fine but a real racer always double-checked.

Little Sister leaned against the hood of the speeder, her arms folded over her chest as she watched the Jedi and the Sith squabble about something she didn’t care about. “Arguing. My… brothers have very divergent philosophies. I shan’t bore you with the details.”

“I don’t think anything you say could bore me,” Anakin grinned up at her, admiring the her lean form in those prim and proper Jedi robes. There was something about her, about the way her eyes looked through other people and the martial elegance of her body language that intrigued him. She wasn’t the typical arm candy he found at places like Cerulean, with their practiced naivety and sharp claws hidden under too much makeup and fake hair.

No, this lady was different, poised and confident and he really, really wanted to learn more about her. Like where did she come from? Were those two really her brothers? Did that lightsaber hilt actually work? Why didn’t she know anything about _Desire Before Dishonor_ ? It was only the most popular of the Jedi _geki_ holo shows! Everybody watched _Desire Before Dishonor_ and its spin off, _Game of Blades_.

“This is an eight-banger, right?” Little Sister asked, watching as Anakin finished up his diagnostics. “From Kuat or Corellia?”

Anakin finished punching in the last of the codes to recalibrate for four passengers and let out a breath. “Corellian. I don’t like the Kuati ones. They don’t have the same kick as the drives from Corellia. You like speeders?”

Smiling, Little Sister shrugged a little, gazing off into the distance again as if she could see something he couldn’t. “I prefer single-seaters myself but my… friend is quite the gearhead. He’s always making modifications to his. It’s a modified eight-banger by the Nubian Collective that he _claims_ can break the sound barrier.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at this specious claim. “Nubian? I see your friend has a thing for style over substance. Nubians are just shiny death traps and don’t even get me started on their ships. The hyperdrive on those things will give out if you so much as look at them wrong.”

He was working on dashboard of his speeder while he spoke and was startled by the bright peal of Little Sister’s laughter. He glanced up to find her covering her mouth and slapping her hand against her thigh, which now that he was looking at it was very well formed. Anakin canted his head to the side, his lips curved into a grin. “The truth hurts. Tell your friend I’m sorry he’s wasted his time and he should get himself a _real_ speeder.”

Little Sister laughed again and Anakin found himself entranced. It took him a minute to remember that people didn’t like it when he stared at them and he turned to climb out of his speeder. “So you like single-seaters, eh? What, like Nidai Triumphs?”

Arching an eyebrow, Anakin’s new dream woman snorted derisively. “Those are pretty but powerless. And the stabilizers on those are absolutely atrocious. If I wanted to rattle my bones to bits I would take up the sport of rancor riding. I prefer Beemer 50Gs. It’s hard to argue with Mandalorian precision.”

“That’s a… powerful bike.”

“Indeed.”

_I… I think I’m in love._ Anakin shook his head and walked over to the woman watching her brothers bicker and gave her a good long look, chewing on his lower lip as he tried to reach out with his sixth sense. _Who_ **_are_ ** _you? Are you even real?_

Little Sister looked up at Anakin with a small, rueful smile on her lips. He could sense nothing and yet he felt as if he had always known her, as if she had always been there, quietly observing him as he stumbled through life. She was cool and peaceful but he knew that beneath that placid exterior was a carefully controlled hurricane of something he couldn’t quite define. He just knew he didn’t want to be there if she ever let loose. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Little Sister sighed and stepped away from the speeder, walking over to the squabbling men. “If you two are done with your debate on each other’s lack of hygiene, we would like to make our departure before Jabba decides that we owe him more than a rebooted cyborg pawn broker.”

“I am more than ready to be gone from this place,” Old Man growled, stalking away from Arulas who followed at a more sedate pace, a blasé smirk on his face. Little Sister arched an eyebrow at her Sith counterpart.

“What did you do now, Arulas?”

“What I’m best at,” he said. “Have fun on your Padawan’s lap, my dear Sister.”

Little Sister whirled around, bristling at his insinuation but the Sith was already frowning at Old Man, who was placidly sitting in the passenger’s seat, a beatific expression on his face.

“The early hawk-bat catches the wyrrm,” Old Man said and nodded his head to Anakin with all the imperious grace of a duke. “Thank you for generosity, Anakin. I know my brother and I have done nothing to deserve this but thank you all the same.”

“Get up!” Arulas growled. “I am _not_ sitting in your lap.”

“Well it’s mine or Anakin’s,” Old Man gestured as Little Sister walked around the speeder and began the careful process of trying to find a comfortable way to sit in the podracer’s lap that let him see where they were going. “Oh dear, looks like his lap is taken.”

Seething, Arulas turned away from the speeder and made to leave. “I will _walk_.”

“Arulas, don’t be a child!” Little Sister called out as and Old Man arranged her booted feet in a way that would leave room for the Sith Lord. “Old… Ben won’t do anything, will he?”

“I swear on my honor as a Jedi,” Old Man said, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. “Come on, brother. I am starving.”

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked as he twisted in his seat to call out to the third triplet who stood furiously glaring at them. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

Arulas was going to tell the three of them off, starting with a few particularly cutting insults in Basic before he moved on to Huttese and then perhaps a flourish in Sith for a finale but the words seemed to die on his tongue. He felt a strange sensation, as if there were two different Force users fighting for control of his body, one trying to lead him about by his head, soft and gentle, and the other trying to pull him through the floor by his guts, cruel and thoughtless. He grimaced and steadied himself, squeezing his right hand as remembered agony burnt through him. The Dark Side rose up around him and he funneled his power into resisting the second being, unconsciously stepping towards his siblings and Anakin, giving into the sweet, protective warmth of the light.

No, not the light. It was…

“Arulas?” Old Man was at his side somehow and his voice was low and soft. “I apologize for losing my temper earlier. Please get in. We should not be separated until we know exactly what’s going on.”

Arulas blinked up at the Old Man, sulphur eyes meeting slate, and he nodded, reaching out with an unsteady hand to the Jedi. “Yes. I… I’m coming. Sorry. Sith compulsion and all.”

Old Man frowned as he watched Arulas sit down in the vacated passenger seat, pale and quiet. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but he knew that something had and he made a mental note to ask about it later.

Now he just had to figure out how to sit in a Sith Lord’s lap while an Anakin who was not his former Padawan drove them off into the night with his female twin curled up in his lap. He wondered what he had ever done to deserve this kind of adventure and decided that perhaps this was the Force’s idea of a terrible joke.

After about five minutes of shifting, grunting, a few carefully positioned boots and more than enough innuendo to fill an entire comedy holo, Anakin started up the engines and nodded with confidence as the antigrav thrusters kicked in with a low, throbbing hum. “See? I told you she could handle it.”

“Indeed,” Arulas and Old Man observed simultaneously and then looked away, furiously blushing. Little Sister just chuckled and hoped she wasn’t sitting on anything too sensitive.

She found herself tucked up under Anakin’s chin, her legs bent over the divider between the seats and her feet resting on either side of Old Man, who was sitting with his back angled to the door and his legs tucked down into the seat well. Arulas rested one hand over her leg and had wrapped the other around Old Man lest he somehow fell out of the speeder. Anakin grinned, pleased that he had managed to get them all in his speeder and the engine was showing no signs of redlining or even that much strain. He had tinkered with this one and it was clear his modifications were holding up well.

And he had a beautiful woman in his lap with her equally handsome twin brothers in the other seat. All in all, it was one of his better trips to Cerulean.

“How far away is your place?” Little Sister asked, making small talk to cover the awkward silence coming from the two brothers.

“About twenty minutes,” Anakin said, his voice low and vibrating against her head as inertia gently pushed her back against his chest.

Arulas decided that it was just poor form for a Sith to cede command of the conversation to the Jedi. “How many levels down is it?”

“Ten, and we’re going up.”

“Up?” Old Man echoed, surprised. “Where do you live?”

“The Senate District,” Anakin explained, his voice warm and proud. “I got a good deal on a two-story corner unit in the Tower Complex.”

“How on Korriban can you afford a suite in the Tower?” Arulas asked, a grimace on his face as he tried to move into a more comfortable position. This whole situation was mortifying but at least it would be over shortly.

“I win,” Anakin shrugged, navigating through Coruscant traffic with a bit more care and consideration that usual given that he had two extra passengers on board. “Besides, they give me a deal on a couple of units and I don’t mind them telling prospective tenants that I live there. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”

Old Man marveled at how level-headed and mature this professional risk-taker version of Anakin sounded. He quietly observed him: the longer hair, the bright blue eyes and the easy smile were somehow the same and yet utterly different. There were no shadows, no lines of exhaustion and anger carved into his face like Old Man’s Anakin. The Podracer was…

Free. There was no other word he could think to describe the young man next to him.

_He’s free and happy. Happier than I think my Anakin has ever been. I… I cannot believe they are the same person and yet the Force does not lie. He is truly Anakin Skywalker._

“Could you kindly brood on someone else’s lap?” Arulas murmured to Old Man, squirming a little. “I do not wish to know the inner workings of your mind, dear brother.”

Old Man looked over at Arulas with an arched eyebrow. “You heard that? I thought I was quite well-shielded.”

Arulas gestured with one hand, an exhausted movement. “You _are_ sitting in my lap.”

“Ah,” Old Man nodded and threw another layer of shielding over his thoughts and resolved to have none of importance for the duration of the trip.

“So what do you do when you’re not scamming Jabba’s casinos for money?” Anakin asked as they sped through traffic, the high pitched trill of the engine trailing after them. “Not that I mind covering for you, but you three don’t look like your average con artists.”

Old Man rolled his eyes and Arulas opened his mouth to speak but it was Little Sister who answered first. “Ben and I are Jedi and Arulas is…”

“Self-employed,” Arulas finished with the faintest arch of his eyebrow.

“Jedi? Really?” Anakin’s smile grew wider as he took the turn for the Senate District and the Tower, which was covered in gleaming Eferite marble, even in the middle of the night.

The Tower was one of the tallest buildings on Coruscant and a highly sought-after address, considered second in stature only to 500 Republica, where the Chancellor and practically half of the Senators from the Core Worlds lived. The Tower was only slightly easier to get into and had a more bohemian and youthful feel to it, in spite of being easily a millennia older than 500 Republica. The residents were far more likely to be the children of ancient money, young staffers and lesser celebrities that didn’t want to bother with the arrogant elegance of the premier address on Coruscant.

Anakin flew the speeder around the building once, climbing gently until his autopilot locked onto to the coordinates of his garage and transmitted the landing vectors to him. He focused on maneuvering the speeder into the bay, trying not to move too much underneath the beautiful woman in his lap or jostle elbows with Ben or Arulas next to him.

“You have your own garage?” Old Man gaped, surprised.

“Yeah,” Anakin chuckled, bringing the speeder to an almost perfect stop, the repulsors letting out an exhausted sigh and he leaned back in his seat. “Welcome to my home.”

“How many speeders do you have?” Little Sister asked as Old Man and Arulas scrambled out of the speeder, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible, making quite a show of straightening their robes and clothing. She shook her head and carefully pushed herself off Anakin’s lap once he opened the door. He followed after her, walking over to the far wall before punching in a code into the garage’s data pad. A smoky grey nanoshield came down over the entrance as the lights in the garage flickered on, revealing two tiers of speeders and pods in various colors, shapes and states of repair.

“I’ve got six speeders and four pods with room for two more,” Anakin gestured to his beauties. “That one right there is my favorite. I won my first race in that one.”

All three Obi-Wans turned towards the chrome and blue pod, surprised to realize that none of them had ever seen the oh-so-important vehicle in person before. Little Sister walked over to it as Old Man folded his arms over his chest and Arulas pretended to find a black-and-red speeder up on the second tier far more fascinating. Little Sister ran her hand over the elegantly curved line of the pod as Anakin continued the brief tour of his garage, giving the names of each craft and pertinent specs as he led the three of them to the far door, which opened onto a turbo lift.

“So what do we want for dinner?” Anakin asked, hitting the up button. “We can get just about anything up here.”

“We don’t need anything complicated,” Old Man answered, turning to glare at Arulas, who was giving him and Little Sister a truly lecherous leer. “We’ve been enough trouble as it is.”

“Trouble?” Anakin shook his head. “Nah. You three are great! Jedi triplet gambling con artists? Now that sounds like my kind of fun. That makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Little Sister asked.

“Did my company send you? I never thought they would top those silver-painted Twi’leks but they've totally outdone themselves,” Anakin grinned down at the three. “I've heard about stuff like this. Augmented Reality Adventures I think they called it.”

The door to the turbolift opened onto Anakin’s apartment and the trio of Obi-Wans stumbled out of the lift, Old Man and Little Sister clearly offended and Arulas enjoying every minute of their huffy indignation.

“A silver-painted Twi’lek?” Little Sister sniffed, drawing herself up to her full height and doing her best to appear as haughty as she could given her shorter stature.

“Twi’leks,” Arulas helpfully pointed out. “There were two.”

“Four actually!” Anakin corrected, leaning against a large faintly luminescent granite island that seemed to mark where his kitchen began. He sighed at the happy memory. “That was fun.”

“Four?!” Old Man echoed. “Sweet Force!”

“Impressive!” Arulas chortled, absolutely loving this new roguish Anakin who not in the least bit a murder-happy Jedi prone to making his boorish counterparts burst into horrified flames at the mere suggestion of sensual delights. “A man of healthy appetite, I see. I like that.”

“You would,” Old Man muttered.

“Well then perhaps _he_ should _pay_ for dinner,” Little Sister muttered under her breath to Old Man, who couldn't stop his snort of laughter.

“What was that, my sweet sister?” Arulas turned to her, his head canted with a bland expression. “You know there are no secrets between triplets.”

“We were just discussing dinner!” she breezed, waving an airy hand about. “I am famished.”

“Why don't you three take a seat and I’ll order dinner?” Anakin offered, walking over to a panel in the wall as the lights flickered and hummed to life.

For a moment, the trio was speechless.

“You live here?” Old Man murmured, marveling at the high ceilings and elegantly appointed couches and artfully designed chairs. The walls were covered in posters from pod races Anakin had won and pictures of smiling people, some with him and some without. The living area was built around large windows that went all the way up to the roof of the second story, large and picturesque. They stared out onto the Senate building and, in the distance, the Jedi Temple, a blazing beacon of light in the murk of Coruscant at night. The lowered sitting area that opened out onto the view was framed by two stairs that spiraled upstairs and lead to two rooms with doors closed.

Old Man didn’t know what was stranger, that Anakin could own such a tastefully decorated apartment or that it was clean. Spotless, actually.

“Where are all the droids?” he whispered to Little Sister as she came to stand next to him, equally awed by the handsome sweep of the home. She giggled a little at his comment and gently elbowed him. “Be nice. We are guests here.”

“I refuse to believe Anakin actually lives here,” Old Man said, his voice low as the two shared a knowing look, recalling their own Skywalkers’ predilection for mess and chaos. “Not until I see a soldering iron under a sofa.”

“What are you two hissing about over there?” Arulas asked, walking over to the two Jedi who seemed entirely too pleased with themselves given the situation. “Sith hells! This is a palace!”

Anakin grinned back at the trio and nodded. “Yeah. Winning has its perks. Okay! Dinner has been ordered! Who wants a drink?”

“Finally! Someone with some sense,” Arulas turned on his heel as if summoned to the kitchen by the dark side itself. Little Sister and Old Man exchanged looks and she shrugged. “I had two whiskeys at the bar.”

After marveling over the wet bar that rose up out of a richly lacquered wooden sideboard, Arulas, Old Man and Anakin joined Little Sister in the sunken seating area where she was gazing out at the Temple, her face thoughtful. Anakin offered her a glass of cold water and she accepted with a smile perching on the arm of a long sofa that Old Man was sitting in the middle of and rearranging his lightsaber to not dig into his side.

“Is that real?” Anakin asked, his eyes alight. “It looks pretty accurate from what I’ve seen on the ‘net and the prop footage from _Desire Before Dishonor_.”

“Yes, they are real,” Old Man said, sipping his Corellian brandy. “And no, you can’t touch them.”

“Oh don’t be such a boor,” Arulas sniffed as he swirled his wine glass. “Dearest sister? Be a love and let him see yours.”

Little Sister shot a glare at the Sith lounging half in shadow and half out before she unhooked her blade from her belt. She walked over to Anakin who put his drink away and bounded up out of his chair in excitement.

His feelings rolled out from him like waves and Little Sister reinforced her shields, not used to so many raw emotions being thrown again. She placed her saber in Anakin’s hand, not at all surprised to see that it was a smidge too small for his larger hands and long, lean fingers. “This is the activation button and do be careful. This will cut through anything and by anything, I mean your own body parts if you’re not careful.”

Anakin nodded and waited until Little Sister stepped away before igniting the blade.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected anything to happen when he hit the button. Only Jedi could wield lightsabers and Jedi were larger than life, almost mythological creatures that lived in holodramas or in the distant Temple that stood out like a stark white beacon against the dingy grey skyline of Coruscant. Lightsabers were magic and mysticism. They were the blazing weapons of honorable knights and wise masters. They were elegant, refined and the epitome of the Core Worlds’ High Culture. The truly powerful did not hire thugs and petty criminals like the people in the world of pod racing. No, the truly powerful politely requested the Senate send over a Jedi or two.

And right now he had three. Or at least two and whatever it was that Arulas did.

No, Anakin Skywalker wasn’t the kind of person who could ever own a lightsaber, let alone turn it on and use it. He came from the dirt, from the refuse pile of Tatooine, a former slave and Outer Rim nobody. He would always be rough around the edges, a little too wild, a little too strong and a little too much for the galaxy. There was nothing calm, still and elegantly civilized about him.

He would never be a Jedi.

The lightsaber hummed to life in Anakin’s hand, blue-white and vibrating with energy and _power._ He could feel the weight of it, heavier than he thought it would be and sensed the push and pull of air against the blade as he carefully moved it around, marveling at the fact he was holding a lightsaber in his hand.

A real lightsaber.

Anakin glanced up at Obi-Wan, who was smiling at him but her eyes were tinged with a shadow he didn’t understand. “So… How am I doing?”

“You’re a natural,” she answered with that same bittersweet smile. “You would have made a marvelous Jedi.”

“How did you get this?” Anakin asked, gesturing with the saber. “Did you buy it from the Temple? Don’t tell me my company paid for them!”

“Are you still going on about that?” Arulas grumbled from behind his wine glass.

“My sister and I are Jedi,” Old Man explained. “We make our sabers by hand.”

“No… no way,” Anakin shook his head and hit the button to deactivate the blade, watching the blade sink back into the hilt. “There is no way you’re Jedi.”

“Why is that?” Old Man asked, sipping his brandy and quite relaxed for the first time that day. “Do we not look like Jedi?”

“Well you two do, but he doesn’t,” Anakin replied frowning at the saber hilt. “Arulas looks like a villain from a holofilm. A sexy bastard if ever I saw one.”

Arulas choked on his wine and Little Sister broke out into a fit of laughter and even Old Man had to chuckle as the Sith struggled to regain his composure. Anakin grinned, not quite sure why they were laughing but he was really too entranced with the lightsaber to give it much thought.

He yearned to open it up and examine how it worked, to pour over the constituent components and learn the secrets of something that had suddenly become very real to him. This was a real lightsaber and his sexy triplets could very well be real Jedi.

If this was a dream, Anakin never wanted to wake up.

A hundred different questions raced to mind but the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of dinner and he reluctantly handed the blade back to Little Sister, who returned it to her hip with a promise that he could look at it again after dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I'm sure you all thought I was dead but fear not my lovelies! I live! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter. I've also been working on some art to go along with this story and if you would like to see the WIP I'm working on please click on the link [HERE.](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/post/151638966862/tonight-on-aunty-fishy-abuses-the-ewan-mcgregor) It is a triptych of our three favorite Obi-Wans and it's still rough but I HAD to do the eyes because that's almost the most fun for me and SITH EYES! Fun!
> 
> Anyway, must love also goes out to the wonderful and amazing RainGlazed who has gone above and beyond the call of duty and DRAWN ME FAN ART!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!! GO LOOK AT HER AMAZING FAN ART AND GIVE HER ALL THE LIKES/REBLOGS AND LOVE BECAUSE OH MY GOD! FAN ART!!! I LOVE YOU!
> 
> [HERE BE FAN ART AND AN AWESOME, WONDERFUL PERSON!](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/151244849401/my-impressions-of-that-one-fic-where-three)
> 
> So that's all for today my lovelies! Stay tuned for our next chapter where Old Man starts a food fight, Arulas tries to remember he's a bad guy, Little Sister falls in love with a dinner roll and Anakin has a moment of Force fueled clarity and RSVPs for a party.


	5. Invitation Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Anakin has his 'Sexy Triplets' back at his flat, what will he do with them? Old Man and Arulas put on a show, Little Sister fails at technology, and what exactly do they serve for dinner on those Republic cruisers?

Dinner was a sumptuous feast, even by Anakin's standards, with cuisine from all corners of the galaxy and more than enough alcohol to drink a Weequay pirate under the table. The delivery droids set up the myriad of colorful dishes up across the large Eferite marble island and the podracer’s solid wooden slab of a table. Old Man, who was starving, got his hand smacked by Anakin when he tried to sneak a candied green sweet bean from a plate of Naboo pastries. "Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners? No dessert before dinner."

Old Man smirked and popped the candied treat in his mouth. "Too late."

"Is that Corellian spiced meat pie?" Little Sister interrupted the two men, her face bright with delight and hunger. "I haven't had that in ages! Actually… I can't remember the last time I had a real meal that wasn't a ration kit."

Arulas quirked a brow at her and waited for the droids to leave before he grabbed up a plate and started picking out what he wanted. "Rations, eh? That sounds terribly… militant."

Little Sister shrugged and proceeded to pile her plate high with everything she had been missing while on the battlefield. When she finished, even Anakin was impressed with the artful mountain of food, treats, and bread.

The four made their way back to the massive dining table that looked out over the living room and to the distant lights of Coruscant beyond. They clustered around the end of the table as they passed drinks, condiments and food back and forth to each other. Anakin sat at the end, Little Sister and Old Man on each side and Arulas sat to Old Man’s left although with his lounging and louche posture he might as well have been another seat away.

"Sweet Force! I could eat five of these," Old Man sighed ecstatically as he finished off a fresh bread roll that smelt of heaven and lazy afternoon naps. "Dearest Little Sister, if the Temple comes to drag me back again to some hellscape like Geonosis or Florrum? I want you to put an end to my life and bury me with a whole plate of these."

"Only if you swear to do the same for me and with an entire Chandrillan sponge cake," she retorted with a grin and a flourish of her fork. "I've changed my mind. Perhaps I will pay for dinner after all."

Anakin looked at the two, puzzled by their conversation and he looked to Arulas for an explanation.

The Sith Lord smiled. "The Temple is not well known for its cuisine."

And that answered his question about how far his master's plan had advanced in his siblings' worlds.

No one was _that_ excited about dinner rolls unless they had been living off of Republic rations for months. Possibly more in the Old Man's case. He had that hard edged gauntness around his eyes that no amount of laughing or smiling ever seemed to touch and his spirit in the Force was subdued when compared to Arulas's own sulphur flames or Little Sister's sparkling radiance.

Old Man was rapidly approaching the end of his metaphorical rope.

"I've always wanted to be cremated," Anakin mused, unsure why he felt so comfortable talking about something so morbid with the ridiculously attractive triplets he had picked up only two hours ago. He still had every intention of sleeping with at least one of them but that could wait. He didn't have anything to do for the rest of the week and how often did he get to talk to real "Jedi"? "There's something poetic about it. You burn away into embers that light up the night sky."

"From stardust we came and to stardust we return," Old Man quoted. "An old Jedi told me that once."

"If you mention that talking green ottoman I will throw this exquisite glass of Pantoran wine at you," Arulas scowled. "Can't we go back to discussing Anakin's silver lady friends?"

"Master Yoda is hardly an ottoman!" Old Man retorted in defense of his great-grand master. There was a pause for breath and then he barreled on ahead with a snicker. "He's really more like a sentient gizka toad. He's not the least bit ottoman-shaped."

Little Sister burst out laughing and even Arulas gave in, chuckling softly and Anakin felt the whole room light up with his secret sight. _This is how it it supposed to be_ , something seemed to whisper to him. These three were his to look after, his to protect and shelter as the universe battered and bruised them.

They belonged together. Even if it was only for a little while.

In his heart, Anakin knew he would only have these impossible people with him for a painfully short time.

"So how did two Jedi and a… freelancer end up in one of Jabba's nicer establishments?" Anakin asked several plates later, enjoying the pleasant, growing buzz of booze and beautiful, fascinating people. "Are you on the run from the law?"

Old Man snickered at the freelancer bit. "Possibly. We did… liberate that speeder from the Temple pool."

"I still say we should have hocked it and used that money instead of your bloody saber," Arulas muttered into his wine as Little Sister rolled her eyes at him.

“We wouldn’t have gotten near what that speeder was worth. Beside, the bare crystal itself on the black market is worth two of those speeders,” she countered.

“When did you become an expert on the going rate for Kyber crystals on the black market?” Old Man asked her, his eyes round with surprise. “And please tell me it has nothing to do with Hondo Ohnaka.”

“Dex, actually,” Little Sister answered. “And Quin, on occasion. You never know when little bits of information are going to be helpful.”

“You little scoundrel!” Arulas teased, a lupine grin on his face. “Please tell me you wear some kind of delightfully scandalous outfit when you partake of these covert missions into the seedy underbelly of the galaxy. Describe in detail, my dear, and leave nothing out. I'm sure Anakin would love to hear all about it!”

Little Sister looked over at Anakin, whose smile was as large as Arulas’s and he was wiggling his eyebrows to boot. “Yes. Details. All of them. Pretty please?”

“And this is precisely why I do not engage in covert, undercover operations without…”

Old Man let out a loud cough that barely managed to cover the name of a Jedi Knight who was not sitting at the table but was still represented by a cheeky and retired professional podracer.

“Without what?” Anakin asked, already imagining the adventures Little Sister got up to in the underworld. “You all right, Ben?”

Old Man nodded, taking a long sip of cool water, suddenly worried that he was getting too pleasantly buzzed and that he was going to accidentally let something slip.

“My Padawan,” Little Sister explained. “He’s very capable and quite intimidating when he wants to be. I do hope he hasn’t gotten himself into trouble.”

“I’m starting to worry that we are not elevated enough company for you to keep, Anakin,” Old Man said, frowning at a particularly complicated deep-fried sea creature. “How does one… ingest this?”

“Use the Force,” Arulas offered, yanking a piece of it off with a tug and floating the leg over to his outstretched hand. “Ah, excellent. Deep-fried… something or other.”

This sent the whole table into a round of alcohol-fueled laughter, which was followed by a bawdy joke from Anakin and a dry retort from Old Man that sent Little Sister into a fit of giggles so powerful she nearly spilt her wine all over the lovely floor. Even Arulas gave over to the warmth of the room, deciding that there was nothing in the Sith Code that expressly forbade him from having a bit of fun with his time- and reality-displaced siblings.

Actually, there was nothing keeping him from anything here in this new world. Sidious was not his master and the lean and golden man across the table from him was clearly not the Chosen One. Oh, he was prodigiously gifted in the Force but it was like seeing a truly magnificent luminescent Firka Pine growing in the forests of Tellestria. He was powerful and magnificent but wild and riotous. Trying to shove him into the small confines of either ideology, Sith or Jedi, seemed almost a crime against nature.

No, this Anakin he would leave alone as he was in no way connected to the man who had blithely ruined Arulas’s life with all the fervor of a religious zealot.

The conversation had moved on while Arulas was brooding, Little Sister and Anakin arguing over the construction of a particular type of speeder bikes as Old Man looked on, either horrified or bored. It was hard to tell. It was also hard to tell if Podracer and Little Sister were flirting or if she was really that into speeder bikes.

Turning to Old Man, Arulas arched an eyebrow as if to say, _What are they blathering on about?_

 _I don’t know and don’t care,_ Old Man’s eye roll answered as he turned to his food and took another bite of his deep-fried something or other.

“Perhaps we could talk about something we all have some knowledge of, Little Sister?” Arulas suggested, his voice as sweet as he could manage it.

Anakin was about turn the topic of the conversation to their lightsabers when he saw a bread roll fly through the air and nearly bean Arulas in the face. It stopped just short of his nose and he frowned at it as if offended by its very nature.

“Now, now, Little Sister,” Arulas sniffed, plucking the weaponized carbohydrate from the air. “This is no way to behave in front of our host.”

“What?!” Little Sister protested. “I didn't do it! Old Man did it!”

Anakin glanced at Old Man, curiosity on his face as Arulas slowly swiveled in his chair. Old Man sipped his delicious beverage and refused to make eye contact. “I don't know what she's talking about. I would never use my abilities in such a frivolous manner.”

Another dinner roll sailed down the table and bounced off Anakin’s head. “Hey!”

Little Sister broke down into a boozy fit of giggles and Arulas sighed. “At least send butter next time, you ill-mannered brute.”

The next bit of baked goods to go flying flew with the straight and unerring trajectory from Anakin’s hand and Arulas managed to dodge it just in time. “Sith hells, man! I didn't _do_ anything!”

Little Sister, who really was quite exhausted and sleep deprived, sunk deeper into giggling hysterically about the whole damn mess. “Stop that! I… I can't breathe!”

“Well then, someone should give you the kiss of life,” Arulas smirked and gestured to their host. “Go on, Anakin. Save our fair sister from death by a case of most un-Jedi-like laughter.”

“No!”

“Arulas!”

Anakin shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “I think she's okay.”

“I am more than fine. I am… sideways,” Little Sister observed from where she had slid under the table. “I must compliment your boots, Arulas. They look quite comfortable and sinister at the same time. A triumph of Sith fashion might.”

“Anakin,” Arulas sighed, looking skyward. “Be helpful and liberate Little Sister from the nefarious confines of your dinner table.”

Anakin popped upright and pulled out the chair, offering his hand to Little Sister, who took it with great aplomb as she clambered upright and returned to her seat. “I have come to the decision to forgo any further alcohol.”

“A wise choice,” Old Man nodded, reaching out with the Force to assure himself that Little Sister had not somehow drunk her smaller self into danger. Little Sister waved his concern away and muttered, “Enough. I’m fine already. Someone pass me that plate.”

Arulas graciously handed Little Sister a plate of Mandalorian fried skewers of meat, biting skeptically into one himself only to be happily surprised. "This is actually quite palatable."

"The Duchess recommended it," Anakin shrugged, scooping up some kawn meat stew with a piece of spongy sour bread from Fellucia. "She says it's the best ahsek, no. That's not how it's pronounced. Besjmka… that's not it either. Anyway it's the best Mandalorian food you can get on Coruscant."

"How do _you_ know the Duchess of Mandalore?" Little Sister asked, her eyebrow raised in disbelief. "I never took her to be the podracing type."

"I do a lot of charity work in the off season," Anakin explained between sips of his drink. "One of my favorite ones is for Mandalorian ecological recovery. If they can successfully terraform Mandalore then there's hope for planets like Tatooine."

"What other charity work do you do?" Little Sister asked and Anakin told her all about his orphanages and the work he did for refugees and victims from the edges of Republic space and the Outer Rim. Neither paid much attention to Old Man and Arulas, who had shared a brief loaded glance at each other when the Duchess came up. After a beat they both looked away, haunted by their different demons. Arulas finished off his bottle of wine while Old Man leaned back in his chair, a sudden melancholy overcoming him.

“ _Ner kal nuhoy’re nen cin vhetin_ ,” Old Man murmured, as much a poem as a prayer. “ _Ner kar’ta nuhoy’re nen carud a cerar._ ”

Anakin and Little Sister stopped their conversation about his charity work to watch Old Man with wide eyed surprise on their faces. Arulas watched him with narrowed eyes, his sulphur eyes cold and remote.

“What was that?” Anakin asked, Little Sister looking even more surprised.

Sitting up a little in his chair, Arulas spoke, his voice low and rich as he translated. “My blade sleeps in virgin snow. My heart sleeps in the smoke on the mountain.”

Old Man gave Arulas a respectful bow of his head. “Well said. I see you speak _Mando’a_.”

Arulas shrugged, waving one gloved hand. “I speak well enough for an _aruetii_.”

Little Sister opened her mouth to demand to know where Old Man and Arulas learned the Mandalorian language because she certainly did not when she spent a miserable year running around the galaxy trying to keep Satine from getting herself and her Jedi bodyguards killed. She had a great affection for Satine and had been more than happy to offer her assistance again when the duchy was troubled a few months back but clearly a lot more had happened between the boys and the Duchess than in her world. She could hardly blame them: Satine was a classically beautiful woman and even if they hadn’t agreed on anything more than the fact Qui-Gon’s snoring was absolutely terrible, Little Sister still considered Satine a great friend.

Even if she had implied that Little Sister was full of lies and ‘hyperbole’.

“Is there more?” Anakin asked, absolutely entranced. “It sounds beautiful.”

Old Man frowned for a moment and then nodded, as if he had decided something within himself. He raised his head and continued to recite, Arulas translating after each line. Arulas’s voice was lower than Old Man’s and the two seemed to weave together in sad, lonely harmony.

“ _Nu draar sa doslane’rte a cin_ ,” Old Man began, looking out at the starry darkness of Coruscant, remembering the last time he was with the Duchess. “ _Nu draar sa olare’rte daab at ni._ ”

“Never again will you cross the white. Never again will you descend to me.” Arulas spoke, his eyes closed and a faint wave of pain and grief washed over his face before he banished it from Little Sister and Anakin’s eyes.

“ _As’dralas fui me’suum’ika. As’nadal’as som tarni’ra._ ”

“As bright as the winter moon. As warm as the summer sun.”

“ _Jii aru a’dha a cuun tome’tayl_ ,” Old Man concluded, closing his eyes and praying to the Force that Satine was finally at peace. That Qui-Gon and her family had welcomed her to the afterlife with open arms and she was at last free from the wars and violence that had so troubled her people and her reign. “ _Ai a kar’taylir darasuum._ ”

Arulas gave Old Man’s poem a moment or two before he finished translating. “Now there is only the dark of our memories and the eternity of our love.”

It took a minute for Anakin and Little Sister to shake the power of the impromptu performance off and when they did they broke out into applause, hers more subdued but no less impressed.

“Do you speak Mandalorian too?” Anakin asked Little Sister, who shook her head and smiled with great understanding and compassion at her siblings. “No. That is not something I share with Ben and Arulas. But I think they sound amazing.”

“Agreed,” Anakin nodded, pushing his chair back and standing up. “If you’ll forgive me. I just remembered I have to do something.”

Anakin drunkenly loped up the stairs, almost tripping over one step and chuckling as he turned back to his sexy and talented triplets. “Stairs are hard.”

The trio of Obi-Wans watched him go with amusement, waiting for the door upstairs to close before Little Sister demanded information. “Why do you two know Mandalorian and _I_ don’t?”

Arulas shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you? Did you not travel to Mandalore during your apprenticeship?”

“Of course I went to Mandalore!” Little Sister retorted. “It was absolute hell and I had to carry Satine through a blasted swarm of venom-mites and that was no easy feat for me, I might point out. I damn near dropped her at the end.”

Old Man chuckled and shook his head. “Then you are a better Jedi than I, fair sister. I dropped her.”

“As did I,” Arulas confessed, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Where was that again?”

“Draboon,” Old Man and Little Sister said at the same time, chuckling together and then the three lapsed into silence as they waited for Anakin to return, which he did a few minutes later, carrying a datapad and taking the stairs with more grace than he had gone up them.

“Sorry about that! What did I miss?” Anakin sighed, collapsing back into his chair. “Did they do another poem?”

“Sadly, no,” Little Sister said, taking a sip of water. “There was a threat of a bad joke but thankfully it was rescinded.”

“I like jokes,” Anakin offered, looking from Old Man to Arulas, who decided that it was time to collect some information from the pleasantly buzzed podracer at the end of the table.

“Anakin? You said you are friends with the Duchess?” Arulas asked, settling his glass down and glowering at a distant shadow. “How is Bo-Katan? Still flying around on her jetpack? Or has the pressure of the title made her give that up?”

“Who?” Anakin asked, confused. “Bo-Katan? You mean Satine’s sister? The mercenary?”

Little Sister looked from Arulas to Old Man and back, equally puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Old Man’s head whipped around to Arulas, who shared a wide-eyed look with him before facing Anakin. “Is Bo-Katan not the Duchess of Mandalore? She was next in line to inherit the throne after Satine, was she not?”

Little Sister shook her head, confused, and waited for Anakin to explain to them who exactly was running the planet.

“No! Stars, no! Satine is the Duchess!” Anakin laughed, waving his hand in front of him. “Bo-Katan is running around with her mercenary group called the Night Birds or Dusk Owls or something weird like that.”

“Satine is alive?” Arulas and Old Man exclaimed at once and it was then that Little Sister realized that Satine was due to die in the future of her timeline and she made a note to grill Old Man for details about that as soon as possible.

“Of course!” Anakin said, looking at the two a little strangely. “Actually she’s arriving on Coruscant tomorrow. That’s why I went to get my datapad. I have to tell her I can’t make it to her party tomorrow.”

“Are you telling me that the Duchess of Mandalore, Satine Kryze, has invited you to a party at her residence tomorrow?” Arulas asked, his voice sharp and commanding. “And you are going to turn her down?”

Old Man shot Arulas a glance before turning to watch Anakin’s reaction.

“Yeah?” Anakin shrugged, looking confused and a bit tired. “I get invited to, like, five parties a day. I can’t go to all of them. Besides! I have you three! Why? Do you want to go?”

Arulas spoke before Little Sister or Old Man could get a word in. “Yes. All three of us. We would all like to go.”

Little Sister arched an eyebrow and was about to say something about she didn’t particularly want to go to a fancy party with a bunch of celebrities and the rich and powerful but she could sense Arulas’s determination in the Force and chose not to speak up.

“Ben? Don’t you want to go as well?” Arulas asked, giving Old Man a Look that demanded the older Obi-Wan agree to the Sith Lord’s demand.

Old Man took a long sip of wine and let out a sigh. “Why not? I haven’t been to a party in years.”

Little Sister resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her brothers. “Poor you. Such a deprived existence you must lead.”

“Well, if we’re all going,” Anakin grinned, picking up his datapad and pushing a few buttons, “I need to tell Satine so they have enough booze.”

“Anakin! It’s four o’clock in the morning!” Old Man protested. “She’ll be asleep!”

“I’ll just leave a message, then,” Anakin explained as he hit the number for Satine’s personal com. “Oh, kriff! Hang up! Hang up!”

“Give that to me.” Little Sister commandeered the pad and let out a cry when she realized she had no idea how to turn the blasted thing off. “Where is the karking cancel button?”

Arulas simply placed his head in his hands and let out a long suffering sigh.

Thankfully for all parties involved, the call went directly to Satine’s messages and Anakin snickered to Little Sister and Old Man, whose turn it was to roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Good evening, or morning, or day, your Grace!” Anakin said, trying to sound as polite as one could be with two Correllian whiskies, two glasses of Pantoran wine and a bottle of Dantooine beer in their system. “It’s Anakin Skywalker here and I was trying to message you but my fingers are drunk and I called instead.”

Arulas shook his head, still cradled in his gloved hands. _How is it this pure and innocent creature keeps defeating my Master’s plans at every turn? He is like a sentient lothcat._

“So don’t wake up! Because I’m going to go soon but we are coming to the party tomorrow night or tonight. What day is it, Ben?”

Old Man laughed softly. “The party is this evening, Anakin.”

“So we will see you tonight,” Anakin nodded. “And I will be bringing my sexy triplets, just so you know.”

“Don’t call us that!” Arulas spat, turning bright red and his eyes bulging with fury as Anakin hung up the call. “Did you just hang up?”

Anakin smirked. “Yup.”

Arulas blazed in the Force and it took every bit of his control to remind himself that if he started anything with the Podracer, his lovely siblings were going to try to end it and he needed a place to stay while they figured out what brought them here in the first place and how they were going to get home.

If they could go back home, that is.

Sinking back into his chair, Arulas brooded at an oblivious Anakin, who was talking with Old Man about his orphanages or something equally good and virtuous. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic when he felt a good jab in the Force at his side.

“Don’t be mean,” Little Sister chided the brooding Sith. “Eat your spiced stick meat and remember your manners.”

She pointed at the uneaten Mandalorian food on his plate that had started all of this.

“Spiced stick meat?” Arulas asked, his eyebrow arched as his lips quirked into what might have been a smile. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

“I am tired, a bit drunk and full of delicious food, so yes, that is the best famed conversationalist Obi-Wan Kenobi can come up with,” Little Sister conceded, finishing off a bite of something delightfully citrusy with relish. “Ooo! This is good too!”

“I don’t remember that what is but it’s from Mon Cala,” Anakin smiled, leaning back in his chair. “I met the king of that planet and he swears it’s his favorite dish.”

“How can you still eat?” Old Man groaned, slumping back against his chair. “I am full to bursting and ready to sleep for the next two months.”

“Where are you three staying?” Anakin asked, casually not looking at any of them so that he didn’t seem too forward. “Because if it’s too far away, I’ve got plenty of room.”

“We haven’t any rooms at the moment,” Arulas answered, sipping his wine and smiling, enjoying it as Old Man and Little Sister started to get nervous again. “There was some concern over how much it would cost.”

Little Sister was turning a charming shade of pink as she grabbed her water glass. Old Man glared at his Sith counterpart. “What Arulas is trying to say, is that we have limited funds nor do we wish to overstay our welcome.”

“Overstay your welcome?” Anakin repeated, laughing loud and long as he shook his head. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Once, I had this pilot from some Mid Rim world stay with me for two years while he was saving up for his own ship. He was my personal pilot for a while and, let me tell you, he was damn good. Not as good as I am but almost.”

“Two years?!” Old Man and Little Sister gasped, suddenly horrified at being gone from their worlds for that long. They shared a look and a joint fear through the Force, their minds flashing back to their Anakin and Ahsoka.

“I hardly think we’ll be here that long but if the invitation is open,” Arulas smiled, his golden eyes heavily lidded in the dark. “We accept. And I think it’s time for bed. We must get our beauty rest in order to look our best for the Duchess tomorrow.”

Arulas stood up with Anakin following suit. The Sith pointedly cleared his throat at Old Man and Little Sister, who both nodded in agreement that four-thirty in the morning was probably a good time to retire from a very long and very difficult day. Anakin picked up his pad and punched a code in, grumbling when he got it wrong and putting another one in, letting out a happy sigh as the soft sounds of cleaning droids whirled out from the walls. “They’ll take care of the dishes and the leftovers.”

“Oh good,” Old Man nodded, watching the lean form of Anakin walk past him and up the stairs. There was something about the way he moved, something that was both familiar and different at the same time and he struggled in his exhausted and booze fueled state to divine what that was. Little Sister was at his side, yawning deeply as she glanced over at him. “Are you alright?”

“I will have a terrible hangover tomorrow, but right now?” Old Man chuckled. “I feel fantastic. I haven’t been so full in a long time.”

“You two have got to get out more,” Arulas sighed, shaking his head. “War is not an excuse to neglect one’s nutritional needs.”

“Spoken like a man who doesn’t have to live off ration bars and nutrient milk,” Little Sister grumbled. “I imagine Sith Lords eat quite well considering your… build.”

“Did you just call me fat?” Arulas looked slightly offended. “And I will have you know that I am on a strict diet. Master has restricted me to only one baby a day and half a Padawan. I am practically wasting away.”

Old Man let out a guffaw as they came to a series of doors, Anakin standing against the railing and gesturing. “You three can sleep here. Each one is a suite so you don’t need to go walking around in the dark looking for a bathroom. Of course, if you are scared of the dark and you need someone to hold your hand, my room is right by the stairs.”

Arulas chuckled as Old Man blinked in confusion. Little Sister smiled and placed a hand on Anakin’s arm. “You will be the first person I call for if I need anything. Thank you and sweet dreams, Anakin.”

She turned on her toes and waltzed into the first room on the right, wiggling her fingers to the other men as she closed the door.

The remaining Obi-Wans looked over at Anakin, who grinned at them, his hands resting on the railing. “I think I might be in love.”

“Oh, really,” Old Man snorted as he rolled his eyes. “I am going to bed. Good night, Anakin. Good night, Arulas. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m sleeping.”

Arulas held a hand to his chest as if he could not believe Old Man had accused him of such behavior. “Me? Get into trouble? You wound me, dear brother. Sleep well and dream of Draboon.”

Old Man shook his head and bowed to Anakin. “Sleep well and feel free to come find me if Arulas tries anything.”

And that left Anakin and Arulas, who suddenly realized that his supposedly ‘good’ siblings had left him as the last man standing and his earlier words came back to haunt him.

Was he going to have to “pay” for their dinner and lodgings?

Anakin smiled, his eyes warm and soft. “Good night, Arulas. Pleasant dreams.”

The Podracer turned around and walked back into his room, the door sighing shut behind him and the Sith Lord wondered if somehow the wild and untamed boy had sensed his sudden dismay.

No! Surely this Anakin wasn’t that powerful. Not without Jedi training and especially with the strength of his own shielding.

Confused, but his exhaustion rising with the growing faint light of the dawn, Arulas turned in for the night, eventually collapsing into his bed and closing his eyes to a long-ago vision of Satine from when he had been younger, before all of this had started.

Before Anakin came into his life.

Before the Sith.

When he had simply been Obi-Wan Kenobi and the future had lain before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here's the latest chapter in the further adventures of the Podracer and his Sexy Triplets. I want to thank everyone for their lovely kudos and comments! It's absolutely amazing and I'm so happy you're enjoying with wacky adventure with me. :D
> 
> Yay for Satine not being dead! Arulas is happy! Old Man is happy! Little Sister is concerned but happy! It's a happy-happy day/night/time for our Sexy Triplets! 
> 
> If you're into more silly Obi-Wan and Shenankins then I suggest checking out the fic I'm writing with the lovely [Lily Conrad,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad) [The Warp and The Weft.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8250425) It involves time traveling, spirit possession and messing with Kylo Ren, my new favorite pastime! XD
> 
> Next time on Where Shall We Three Meet Again?
> 
> Old Man is hungover. Little Sister visits the garage. Arulas spills the beans all over the floor and Podracer goes to the beach.


	6. Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers are brutal. Old Man vows never to drink with a Sith Lord again, Arulas exposes some hard truths, and Little Sister and Podracer go to a beach.

True to his prediction, Old Man woke up with a hellacious hangover and the distinct taste of death in his mouth. He rolled onto his side, letting out a loud and unhappy moan.

Pulling the sheets over his head, Old Man cursed as an unnaturally cheerful ray of sunshine stabbed him through his eyes and straight into his brain.

“That is the last time I go drinking with a Sith Lord,” Old Man muttered as he waited to see if the contents of his stomach were going to need an emergency evacuation.

Nope. He was go for standing up, as much as he didn’t want to.

After the morning visit to the refresher and a hop into the shower, Old Man walked back to the ridiculously comfortable bed he had slept in, pulling his legs under himself as he settled into a meditative pose to help his body process whatever was left of the alcohol in his system and clear his mind for the day ahead.

As Old Man meditated, he could sense the spirits of the others in the apartment: Anakin was already up and far enough away that his blinding radiance in the Force did not obscure some of the finer detail in Arulas and Little Sister’s presence.

Old Man deduced that Podracer was most likely down in his garage and if he knew Anakin, the young man was probably working over one of his crafts, no doubt elbow deep in an engine and covered with grease.

Little Sister was out on the balcony and it felt like she was moving slowly through saber forms, perhaps in her own form of moving meditation. He tentatively greeted her across the Force and she paused, flashing what he pictured to be a smile and a cheerful “Hello!”.

While Old Man found it hardly surprising that Little Sister was already up, he was stunned to discover that Arulas was also up and moving around, a shadow moving through space, lit from within by random jagged lightning bolts. Arulas was lounging by the balcony and from the faint sounds coming through the door, he imagined the Sith was talking to Little Sister.

_Probably critiquing her form._

Old Man let out a sigh and looked around the room for his clothes, pulling on his light undershirt and pants before padding downstairs barefoot.

“How nice of our Sleeping Jedi to join us!” Arulas drawled as Old Man cleared the last few steps into the central living space. “Little Sister put a kettle on for you but thankfully our resident celebrity drinks caf like the rest of the galaxy.”

Old Man arched an eyebrow at Arulas and nodded a greeting to Little Sister, who returned it and returned to a Form Two movement outside the opened windows. “It’s not Sapir, Obi-Wan, but it’s decent. A nice blend from Gatalena.”

“I am not picky,” Old Man replied, walking over to the kettle of hot water that was sitting on a smooth induction cooktop, radiating warmth and the presence of three other Force users passing over it. The packets of tea were sitting in a charming wooden box, set next to a simple blue mug with milk and sugar. He was touched by Little Sister’s thoughtfulness and set about preparing his tea.

Once he was done, Old Man ambled back over to the sofa, sitting down on the other side of the room from Arulas and watching Little Sister’s practice and her enviable flexibility. “Thank you for setting everything out for me, Sister.”

“Oh, that was Anakin,” she replied, finishing a form and flowing into another, this one from Makashi and involving a great deal of smooth, controlled strikes. “He was up before I was.”

“I see insomnia plagues him here as well,” Old Man frowned at his tea. “When did you two get up?”

“About two hours ago?” Little Sister grunted as she bobbled a turn and stood up from her practice. “Arulas woke up about a half hour ago.”

“There’s no need to stop on our account,” Arulas said as he sipped his caf. “I’m quite enjoying the view.”

Old Man shot a look at Little Sister who rolled her eyes and stepped back into the apartment, closing the wide doors behind her. “We should talk.”

“Oh? What about?” Arulas asked, still hiding his expression behind his mug and a surprisingly long fall of wheat-colored hair. “About what you’re going to wear to the party? Because I have some _suggestions_.”

“Can I strangle him, Old Man?” Little Sister asked cheerfully. “I promise I won’t do any serious damage. Nothing worse than a few embarrassing bruises.”

Making room for the young woman on his couch, Old Man shook his head. “No, my dear. How would we explain it to our friend the Podracer? While I do not have any siblings, that I know of, I am certain they do not run around strangling each other.”

“Such threats of violence is not befitting the Jedi way,” Arulas teased, setting his mug down. “Now that I have finished my caf, what would you like to discuss, dear elder brother?”

Old Man looked over his shoulder to the lift doors that led down to Anakin’s garage. The steady radiance of the sun was still there, illuminating the apartment when he stretched out with the Force. Anakin was deeply involved in some sort of difficult repair and it was clear he would be down there for a least a half hour or so, giving them enough time to discuss their predicament without having to explain to this innocent man how they came to be tangled up in his life and dependant upon his largess and hospitality.

“We should not tell him about… our places of origin,” Old Man said setting his own tea to the side. “He won’t believe it. I’m not sure _I_ would believe it if it happened to me in my world. Especially if I wasn’t a Jedi and you two showed up on my front door asking for help.”

“I agree,” Little Sister nodded, fiddling with her lightsaber. “And… I wish to apologize for involving him in our mess. When I bumped into him at that club, I had the foolish notion that we would all somehow… just vanish back to our home worlds once reunited.”

There was silence between the three and she carried on, needing some sort of unspoken forgiveness. “I have seen Anakin do such… amazing things! I believed that… I don’t know. I just believed that simply by existing he could push us back to where we are supposed to be.”

“You are assuming we are _not_ supposed to be here,” Arulas pointed out, his yellow eyes surprisingly cool in the mid-morning light. “We should not make assumptions based on the scant information we have.”

“But we should not be here!” Little Sister insisted. “We are fighting a war and every moment I spend here is one more moment that could shift the balance! Anakin… My Anakin is alone! With only Ahsoka and Rex to watch his back and, let me assure you, leaving those three alone is a recipe for disaster, explosions, and mountains of paperwork, which I dislike greatly.”

“I must agree with Little Sister,” Old Man said, picking up his mug. “I… I had just returned to the war after a… personal issue. I do not like the idea of leaving my Anakin alone any longer than that I have to. He’s grown more and more… frustrated with things, with the Council, the Republic…”

Old Man murmured, almost a whisper, into his mug. “With me.”

Little Sister turned to him, concern and worry on her face. “Obi-Wan?”

“Well, I have no intentions of going back,” Arulas smiled cheerfully, purposefully interrupting whatever bonding moment his siblings were going to have. “I intend to stay here and make this my new home. Once I kill my Master and his minions, of course.”

Arulas watched with a kind of smug glee as Old Man and Little Sister slowly turned to face him, her mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and round, both too stunned to say anything. He wiggled his eyebrows, relaxing back with a wide grin that he knew often made him resemble a predator.

“What?!” Little Sister finally exclaimed. “You can’t stay here! You don’t belong here! There is already an Obi-Wan Kenobi here and he is most assuredly _not_ a Sith!”

“What do you mean ‘once you kill your master and his minions’?” Old Man asked, putting his tea down and leaning forward. “Who is your master? Dooku?”

Arulas snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh please. That antique? I was merely waiting for my Master’s order to take him out.”

“Count Dooku?” the Jedi echoed in surprise.

“Wait… does that mean Dooku is the apprentice?” Little Sister asked, turning to Old Man. “That would mean what he said on Geonosis…”

“He was telling the truth!” Old Man said, stunned by this revelation. “If Dooku is indeed the apprentice to another Sith Lord then… Then who is his master?”

Arulas pursed his lips and gazed out the window. _Damn. I said too much._

“That is the story for another time, dearest siblings,” Arulas said, loudly interjecting into their alarmingly cogent discussion of who Arulas’s master could be. “Now shouldn’t we get our stories straight before our charming host returns from whatever dingy little engine he’s fallen into?”

“He has a point,” Old Man sighed but he and Little Sister shared a look that indicated that they were not done badgering Arulas for the identity of his master. The Sith felt a bubble of spite rise up from his gut and he almost told them, just to see the flabbergasted and horrified looks on their faces.

Almost.

He wasn’t going to give that piece of information up without something equally valuable in return from the Jedi. And once he knew what that was, then the real negotiating would begin.

“What have we told him so far?” Little Sister asked, as she stood up and walked into the kitchen to get herself a new cup of tea. “Arulas? Which one is the refrigerator? The marble slab or the wooden one?”

“Wooden!”

Old Man sipped his tea and tried to piece their story together. “We are siblings and Little Sister and I are clearly Jedi and you are… a freelance mercenary? With the Force?”

“Where is the sugar?” Little Sister called out.

“In one of the marble squares,” Arulas replied, steepling his fingers together. “Yes. I am a freelance mercenary with the Force. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s just unusual and unusual tends to attract attention,” Old Man pointed out. “Especially when the Force is involved. We’ve already stolen a speeder and roughed up a Hutt’s cyborg. I would like to keep the Temple out of this if at all possible.”

“Why?” Little Sister returned to the conversation, settling back onto the couch. “As long as we don’t tell them about Arulas, what harm would the Temple do?”

“What harm won’t they do?” Arulas muttered, arms folded over his chest.

Old Man frowned. “I just… I don’t want them… You know the Council and Anakin do not mix well. I cannot imagine that has changed all that much.”

Arulas narrowed his eyes at Old Man. “You… You think they would try something with the Podracer? Don’t you?”

Little Sister blinked in shock. “What? Why? He’s twenty-four! He’s too old for any sort of training! He’s of no real use to them.”

“Let’s just… Let’s just stay out of the Council’s way?” was all Old Man was willing to add on the subject.

“Fine,” Arulas pulled his mouth into a thin line. “Where are we from?”

“Coruscant?” Little Sister offered.

“Excellent,” Arulas nodded. “Family name is Kenobi? Old Man is the eldest, then me and then you?”

“Yes,” Old Man nodded. “I’m Ben. You will stay Arulas and our sister shall keep the honor and privilege of being called Obi-Wan?”

“Good,” Arulas nodded. “Now… Why can’t you two stay at the Temple? This Anakin is clearly something of a Jedi fan and he will want to know why you are not returning to your home base.”

“Undercover mission?” Little Sister suggested and Old Man shook his head. “No. He’ll want to come along and drive the getaway speeder.”

“Fallen Jedi?” Arulas teased, eyes alight. “He’ll definitely like that.”

“No!” both nearly shouted. “Absolutely not.”

Shrugging, the Sith relaxed back in his chair. “Well, we’ll have to think of something.”

There was a long tense moment as Old Man and Little Sister glanced at each other, trying to decide if they were willing to take the hit to their reputation in order to make their time in this world a little easier.

“Or you could just tell Anakin the truth,” came a voice from behind them in the direction of the turbolift and all three Obi-Wans swiveled around to stare guiltily at the Podracer leaning against the doorframe, wiping his hands off on a blue rag. His smile was faint, a pleasant mask indicating he was being patient but not for much longer. “I like the truth. It makes things easier to keep straight.”

“Ah… well…” Arulas looked at his siblings, who were radiating a kind of horrified panic. He pushed himself up out of his chair and strolled towards Podracer, unsure of what exactly he was going to do but well aware that if it involved the Force, it was going to have to be hard and fast because Firka pines were notoriously hard to topple. “You see… Anakin…”

And it was then that Arulas noticed the blue rag was hiding a blaster and he decided that the truth was the best way forward. He came to a stop, held up his hands to ask for a moment to prepare, which Anakin politely allowed him while Little Sister and Old Man hissed at each other about how they were going to talk their way out of this.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Arulas began with a cheerful tone. “I come for a world very different from yours. My brother ‘Ben’ is also named Obi-Wan Kenobi and he comes from a world very different from mine. And our dearest Little Sister is also named Obi-Wan Kenobi and apparently she is not only female but also a little bit behind us in terms of her time line. I am a Sith Lord and my… ‘siblings’, for lack of a better term, are Jedi Knights from parallel realities and it seems we have landed in your world through the machinations of the Force.”

Arulas turned back to Old Man and Little Sister, whose eyes were the size of saucers. He grinned at them and then turned back to Anakin. “And in my world, you are a Jedi Knight.”

“Arulas!” Old Man shouted, movement suddenly returning to him as he stormed over. “I thought we agreed we were not going to tell him!”

“He doesn’t have to be a part of this!” Little Sister scrambled upright, hurrying over to wade into the three-way argument. “I’m sorry about this, Anakin. Just… pretend Arulas didn’t say anything.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow and simply watched the feud.

“What is the point of not telling him?” Arulas groaned, covering his hand with his face. “He is still Anakin Skywalker, is he not? I’m sure he’ll be useful! He’s the bloody Chosen One!”

“He is not!” Little Sister snapped. “I already told you what the Archives said! There is no Chosen One prophecy here and I think it’s a load of bantha poodoo to begin with!”

“We’re not involving him in something he has no training or experience in!” Old Man growled, pointing a finger at Arulas. “Just because you have issues with Anakin in your world does not mean I am going to let you take it out on him!”

“Issues?” Arulas snorted. “Issues? Do you want to know what my issues are, Old Man? Because I think you’ll find them far more sympathetic than you would admit, you sanctimonious hypocrite!”

Anakin winced at that and walked into the kitchen to get himself a cup of caf. “Wow. Hot and crazy.”

“Would you two stop it?” Little Sister ordered, shoving herself between them. “This isn’t helping us nor is it explaining ourselves to our host, who is right _over there!_ ”

Anakin put some cream and sugar in his caf and waved brightly. “Hello! I am Anakin Skywalker and I am still here, listening.”

Old Man let out a loud, irritated groan and marched around the corner, muttering to himself as Arulas shrugged and tried to give Little Sister his most innocent face. “What? He was going to find out eventually. I just… saved us the far greater problem of betraying dear Anakin’s trust.”

“Karking hell!” Old Man shouted, surprising both female and Sith Obi-Wans who quickly leaned around the corner to see Old Man pacing back and forth in front of the window. Sith and Jedi shared a look before turning to Anakin, who was sipping his caf and waiting for things to start making sense again.

“I’m not usually like that,” Little Sister whispered to Arulas, who nodded in agreement.

“Nor I. Why don’t we leave him to his thunderous brooding and we deal with the Anakin at hand?” he offered.

“Why don’t you let me do the talking?” Little Sister said as she walked over to Anakin, who was waiting for her with a bland, patient smile on his face. “Ah… right…”

“Good luck!” Arulas stage whispered, happy to let the Jedi find their way out of this.

Little Sister took a deep breath and let it out, a dozen different thoughts or stories running through her head. She knew she could lie, craft up a story that would at least get them out of Anakin’s apartment in one piece. She could try to mind-wipe him, an unpleasant thought that was done away with as fast at it appeared to her. She could try explaining it away but she had to admit that Arulas had thoroughly screwed them by being honest so she decided that it was simply best if she continued in that vein.

In for a credit, in for a dactari.

“Can we go to your garage?” Little Sister asked finally, glancing back at Arulas, who was peering at Old Man in a puzzled fashion. “Please?”

Anakin shrugged and walked back to the turbolift, his blaster still close by but his caf in the other hand. “After you?”

Little Sister walked into the lift, pausing long enough to take her lightsaber off her belt and tossed it to Arulas. “Hold onto this, would you?”

Arulas blinked, catching the hilt, and tilted his head to the side. “Ah… all right?”

The door to the turbolift slid shut and Little Sister let out a deep breath. She wanted to say something, to put Anakin at ease and to reassure him that she meant him no harm but if tossing her saber away didn’t convince him of her intentions then there wasn’t anything she could say.

“Why the garage?” Anakin asked, sipping his caf and returning his blaster to a holster that she hadn’t noticed before.

The door opened and Little Sister stepped out into the cavernous space, her boots echoing softly as she walked towards the sunlit opening. Anakin followed, putting his caf down on a rolling tray that had several of his tools laid out in a row. “Uhm… how is this explaining things?”

Little Sister held up her hand and turned left to walk over to Anakin’s first pod, her gaze soft and the faint shadow of a smile on her face. She ran her hands over the pitted and scored craft, delicate fingertips dancing over the edge. “You know… I’ve never seen this before. I knew about the race and saw your flag in your room but… it dawned on me last night that I never actually saw the actual pod you won the Boonta Eve in.”

She glanced back at Anakin, a bittersweet expression on her face. “It’s such an important bit of history to me… and I had never even thought about what it looked like. How a little nine-year-old would fit into it.”

Anakin frowned, folding his arms over his chest. “Okaaaay? Why… why is it important to you?”

Little Sister shook her head, as if knocking cobwebs out of her vision. “Because Arulas is correct. We are all from… parallel realities and in mine, my master, Qui-Gon Jinn, won your freedom and a replacement hyperdrive from your owner, a Toydarian named Watto.”

Narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side, Anakin leaned against a support column. “So you’re saying that you are from an alternate universe and in your universe, I was still a slave and some Jedi bet on me in the Boonta and that won my freedom?”

Little Sister nodded. “Yes. He tried to rescue your mother but…”

“No pod is worth two slaves,” Anakin murmured, his eyes distant as he remembered Watto saying the same to him all those years ago. “Did… did he go back? This Qui Jinn guy?”

“No, he died at the hands of a Sith lord shortly thereafter,” Little Sister explained, stepping away from the pod to stand across from Anakin, looking up at him. “His dying wish was that I should teach you the ways of the Force, to train you in the Jedi arts. I took you on as my Padawan and about a year and a half ago, you were knighted after a terrible battle out on Geonosis.”

Anakin gave her a slow nod, still not believing a word she said. “That’s… pretty creative as far as crazy fans go. I will give you that.”

Chuckling, Little Sister pulled a golden hair stick out of a pouch on her belt and used it to pin the braid of her hair up. “I didn’t think you’d believe me but… Arulas has a point. We should be honest with you and trust you to come to your own decisions.”

“If he’s a Sith and a Sith killed your master, why are you hanging out with Arulas?” Anakin asked, confused. “If he’s like the dark Jedi in _Desire Before Dishonor_ then shouldn’t you guys be fighting him? Isn’t that your job?”

Little Sister nodded, her eyes unfocused as she thought about Anakin’s comments. “Technically our job is to bring peace and protect the innocent and in the past, before the creation of the Republic and the Ruusan Reformation, that involved fighting Sith.”

Anakin went to open his mouth and protest that Little Sister wasn’t answering him when she held up a finger. “But I didn’t answer your question. And yes, we should not be cavorting with our ancient enemy through Coruscant but we also should not all exist in the same world at the same time. We have declared a… truce of sorts, to give us the time necessary to figure out what brought us here and how we might best return to our own worlds.”

Anakin closed his mouth and nodded. “Okay, fine but… I mean… alternate worlds? Parallel realities? How am I supposed to believe you? What proof do you have? Other than Arulas and Ben are identical.”

Little Sister frowned off to the side for a moment. Anakin had a point and she tried to think of some key piece of knowledge that would convince Podracer that she was what she said, that she had raised Anakin since he was nine and that he had the potential within him to be a Jedi Knight if he had been discovered when he was younger.

And then she remembered that Anakin was a celebrity and that his personal life was probably available for perusal on the holonet if a scam artist wanted to find it.

“Whatever happened to Threepio?” Little Sister finally asked, glancing back at Anakin. “Is he with your mother?”

Anakin blinked, a little surprised but it was clear that while Threepio was not common knowledge, she hadn’t made a definitive score yet. “Yeah… they’re living on Chandrilla. Mom wanted to live by the water. Threepio… heh. That’s pretty good. That would take quite a bit of digging.”

Little Sister turned around to face Anakin, shaking her head. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. Come here.”

He was immediately on edge again and Little Sister shook her head. “I won’t mind trick you. I promise. If anything, you’re the one who could hurt me if you’re not careful.”

“What… what do you want me to do?” Anakin asked, hesitant as he stepped closer to Little Sister. She stood with her hands at her sides and her shoulders back. Smiling up at Anakin she reached up to touch his forehead with her fingers.

“I will share my memories with you and you will see that I am not lying,” Little Sister said as cheerfully as she could muster. “Now Jedi Masters can do this without touching but I have found that in my experience you do better with some kind of physical connection.”

Anakin chuckled and leaned closer. “If this is an excuse to steal a kiss, you just have to ask.”

Little Sister narrowed her eyes at Anakin and grumbled. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that. Now touch your forehead to mine and try to resist the urge to make a poorly considered joke.”

Inhaling sharply, Anakin did as he was asked, bending over just enough to rest his forehead against Little Sister’s, whose eyes were already closed. She reached out to take his hands and he felt something strange jolt through him. It was like a bolt of electricity ran from his hands all the way up his spine and straight into the middle of his forehead where it touched Little Sister’s.

“What was that?” he asked, concerned and trying to jerk away.

“The Force,” Little Sister explained. “Now stop squirming and reach out with your feelings.”

There was a long moment of silence before Anakin quietly spoke up. “You do realize how weird that sounds, right?”

“I don’t want to hear about weird from a man who slept with four silver-painted Twi’leks and picked up a Sith Lord at a bar,” Little Sister retorted. “Just… reach out with your… light, your spirit. Whatever you want to call it just send it out and I promise you will find me.”

Anakin nodded and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and called upon his second sight, picturing it opening up and the world turning into strange, hazy ghost realm full of lights and shadows, of luminous creatures that came in every color of the light spectrum. He turned to _look_ for Little Sister and was nearly blinded, hissing in pain at the nearness, brightness and _power_ of the radiant blue-white spirit right in front of him.

He let out a string of curses and went to pull away when the retina-searing light dimmed and Anakin _heard_ her feelings, heard her concern and worry but also a kind of gentle amusement. There was a warm affection there, something patient, generous and kind and she was _waiting_ for him, somehow.

“Come inside,” Little Sister murmured and Anakin was suddenly falling, crashing into an ocean, knocked back and forth by waves of feelings that weren’t his and that he couldn’t control. He struggled back to the surface, fighting and clawing all the way until he felt two hands grab him and pull upright.

_Breathe, Anakin._ Little Sister’s voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once and he gaze at the cheerful beach he found himself on. He was kneeling in the surf, barely a foot deep in the water and the sky above was bright and clear, so blue it was almost unnatural. “Where am I?”

_Inside… for lack of a better term,_ she laughed, warmth and affection washing over him, the waves warm and soft against his knees. _Are you alright?_

Anakin stood up, marveling at the sky, the endless horizon off in the distance and the faint blue-green shadows that possibly hinted at a forest in the distance. “It’s amazing! It feels so… so peaceful and safe.”

_That’s… that’s very kind of you to say._ Little Sister’s presence wrapped around him, a comforting blanket of strength. _I’m going to share my memories with you. You’ll have to relax and let them wash through you._

Anakin narrowed his eyes at the water but he nodded, prepared for whatever new strange Jedi adventure he was going on. “I think Master Gregor did this with Padawan Ayden in Season Two.”

_Who?_ Little Sister asked as the tide of the ocean started to come in with faster, stronger waves that splashed against Anakin’s boots and pants. One particular wave surged up and he held up a hand to protect his face when he was suddenly back on Tatooine, staring into a sandstorm dangerously close to the Wastes. He spun around, looking for shelter or the speeder he must have taken to get out there when he spotted a chromium-covered ship with elegant curves and almost no seaming.

_That’s a Nubian ship. I’d recognize that flashy covering anywhere._ Anakin thought as he watched the storm grow stronger and the light slowly fading away. He peered at a communicator in his hand but his hands were small, delicate and feminine and his voice was Little Sister’s, polished and crisp. “Be careful, Master. I will ensure the Queen does not return the transmission.”

_What Queen?_ Anakin asked, confused, and then he was on the ship, cold and kneeling on the floor as he extended his hand to a dusty covered boy with sun bleached hair. The boy’s eyes were bright blue and his expression was so hopeful it made his heart hurt.

_That’s me!_ Whirling around Anakin tried to _reach_ out to Little Sister, desperate to make her stop. _That’s me, isn’t it? How did you meet me? Are you meeting me?_

A large older man with a nose that had been broken and reset many times gestured from Anakin within Obi-Wan to the smaller boy. “Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Hi! You’re a Jedi too?” Anakin saw his younger self say, sticking his dirty hand out. “Nice to meet you!”

Obi-Wan’s hand took the smaller Anakin’s and she shook it gently, warmly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Anakin.”

Then there was pain and screaming and the older man, she was calling him _Master_ , was dying, stabbed by a nightmare given human form. Everything moved too fast, with ray shields moving, his feet pounding on black polished floors and his, no her, lightsaber flashing in bright blue-white arcs. She was so _furious_ and in so much pain but then it was over in a blur of weightlessness and a moment of perfect unity with something Anakin didn’t even have a word for.

_The Force. That is the Force_ , Little Sister’s spirit supplied even as the memories shifted to the voice of the dying Master begging, _Train the boy. He is the Chosen one. Train him…_

And then something was cut and Anakin saw his younger self in the robes of a Jedi.

_No way!_ Anakin gaped, watching himself grow and shift right before his eyes.

He grew taller, up and up, and his shoulders stretched out as the Jedi Anakin moved from simple saber forms to complicated aerial ballets against training droids that never stood a chance. There were fights with other classmates and memories of lessons, some interesting, many boring but then there was flying and traveling and exotic places that Anakin had only heard of. There was some kind of giant armored creature with a soft furry underbelly that Jedi Anakin didn’t like but Obi-Wan found quite friendly. There was an adventure on a poisoned planet and she was worried sick about his younger self.

Many of the memories that washed through Anakin were happy and peaceful, of arguments over pod racers and speeder engines to discussions about the Force and where to find the best sweets and snacks in the Temple District. There were times when her fear and anger at his other self threatened to overwhelm him but usually they were washed away in a tide of relief and concern whenever the Padawan, yes that’s what she called him, when the Padawan came back.

Then there was a beautiful and petite brunette who seemed just as wild and dangerous as her Padawan and then there were clones and a planet full of bug-like creatures. He was captured and sentenced to death and the Padawan came back with the beautiful woman, who he was pretty sure the Padawan was _supposed_ to be protecting and then there was death in the stadium and just when things were at their worst there were _Jedi_ , brilliant, wonderful Jedi and they were there to save them and help them fight their way to freedom and there was rushing and hurrying and confusion as they chased after someone called Dooku.

_Anakin, you don’t need to see the rest of this_ , Little Sister tried to explain as she tried to pull away, but Anakin refused, pulling her closer physically and through the Force.

_No! I want to see! What happens?_ He wanted more, wanted to know what Jedi Anakin was going to do, how he was going to win because of course he was going to win, right?

Anakin wasn’t sure what was worse, the pain of the lightsaber wounds running up and down his arm and leg or seeing his other self lose his arm in a moment of rash bravery. He wanted to pass out but there was something else. Something akin to burning ice and the _fury_ was back and he, no Obi-Wan, was trying to push herself upright, to protect her Padawan, to protect Anakin. The tall, silver-haired man was going to try to kill them both but she wasn’t going to let him as long as there was air in her lungs and the Force at her fingertips, dark, hissing with rage and begging to…

_That is enough!_ Little Sister said and suddenly Anakin was himself again and the darkness was gone, leaving only a soothing, protective caring. He looked around at the beach which was fading away as the sensation of disconnection and loss flowed through him. His eyes turned to the sky and he shook his head, sad to leave the safe haven. “I don’t want to go.”

And for a brief moment, he heard a voice like his own but not. He couldn’t quite make out the words so Anakin whirled around, searching for the source of the voice but he only saw shadows and maybe the memory of a thin white scar in space that might have simply been an afterimage created by misfiring neurons in his brain.

And then Anakin was outside and he was _alone_ and it was horrible.

“How… what…” he reached out to the nearest speeder and sat down, breathing slowly as he gazed at the floor, trying to bring order and stillness to the confused storm of emotions inside his chest. “Was that real? Is that where you came from?”

Little Sister nodded, walking over to him and stroking his back, warm and strong. “Yes. That is where I came from.”

He was a Jedi.

Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi.

Not a slave. Not a racer. Not a celebrity or a philanthropist. He was a Jedi.

He was a hero. He saved people. He did things that mattered to the galaxy. He had a lightsaber and he fought with it and he was amazing.

_That could have been my life…_

“Why… why didn’t you find me here?” Anakin asked, looking up at Little Sister, feeling betrayed by fate and the Force. “Why didn’t you and Master Broken-Nose find me here? Why didn’t you come to Tatooine? Why didn’t you find me?”

Little Sister shrugged, her face sad as she shook her head. “I don’t know. The Naboo crisis in your reality was nothing like mine. It happened when you were four. You wouldn’t have been able to help.”

“Oh…” Anakin nodded, staring down at his hands, frowning at how they were scarred with marks from working in engines and surviving races, from working with his kids and from being wild and reckless. They were the hands of someone who worked for what they had.

But they were his mother’s hands and he couldn’t be ashamed of his mother’s hands.

“Well… I guess that explains some of my luck.” Anakin sighed.

“No… I’ve watched enough pod racing with you to know that your victories are only a tiny fraction luck and the rest is all skill,” Little Sister replied, patting his shoulder. “Now… do you believe me?”

Anakin took a deep breath and slowly stood up, almost expecting the world to start shifting and tilting on its axis again as he glanced over at Little Sister. “I’m 90% there. I mean… you are clearly a Jedi so maybe all of that was just a Force mind trick?”

Little Sister seemed mildly annoyed and Anakin was surprised and delighted to realize that he could sense it now, that he could understand that the faint itching prickliness that was foreign to his current state of mind was her emotions. He could sense her emotions!

And then it was gone, replaced with a cool, soothing distance, like a far away snow dune.

“You make a good point,” Little Sister conceded, holding her hands up. “Perhaps Old Man or Arulas will have a bit of information that will prove conclusively that we are who we say we are.”

 

* * *

 

“Well? Did our darling Little Sister convince you, Anakin?” Arulas asked from where he and Old Man were sitting on the sofa, staring out at Coruscant. “Or must we gather our meager belongings and strike out for adventure and riches elsewhere? I hear Nal Shadda is nice this time of year.”

“We’re at 90%,” Little Sister explained, going to get herself a glass of water as Anakin walked over to the sunken seating area, flopping down in a chair opposite the other two Obi-Wans. “If either of you can convince him, then please, by all means, do so.”

Old Man and Arulas exchanged glances, his face indicating that Old Man should say something. Old Man shook his head and turned away. “I… I don’t have anything conclusive and I will not do what I think Little Sister has done.”

Anakin felt strangely sad at that. He had been hoping that perhaps he would get to see inside Ben’s, no Obi-Wan’s head, to see if he was as peaceful and harmonious as Little Sister. “Yeah… no pressure. I can see how that would be… too intimate.”

“What _did_ you do?” Arulas asked, looking back at Little Sister.

She shrugged as she walked back into the seating area with her glass. “I shared my memories of my world.”

Old Man frowned at her, turning to the podracer. “And you were all right, Anakin?”

Anakin nodded, puzzled. “Uhm… yeah? Am I not supposed to be?”

“It’s… It’s not a technique I would use with a untrained Force sensitive,” Old Man said, folding his arms over her chest. “Especially with one as powerful as you. She’s lucky you didn’t scour her memories right out of her head.”

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant conversation?” Arulas grumbled, shaking his head and standing up. “Anakin? If you’d ever like my proof, you need only come ask. Now, if no one minds, I am going to go meditate on my dark and dastardly to-do list.”

Anakin snickered and even Little Sister smiled, waving him off. “Go, go. You are summarily dismissed.”

Arulas waved off the other three as he headed upstairs. After his door shut, silence reigned over the downstairs, Little Sister sipping her water as she waited for Old Man to say something, anything. Anakin stood up to get his own drink from the kitchen and returned and Old Man still said nothing, merely staring out the window at the Temple. His gaze was lost and sorrowful and Little Sister wondered if he just needed to be left alone, to work through whatever it was that weighed his soul down so heavily.

“So… What is Master Broken-Nose’s name again?” Anakin asked as he turned to Little Sister and away from Old Man’s obstinate silence.

Little Sister opened her mouth to reply but Old Man beat her to it. “His name was Qui-Gon Jinn. He found you on Tatooine and died on Naboo. His dying wish was that I take you on as my Padawan Learner.”

Anakin blinked at Little Sister, who nodded. “He is correct.”

Turning away from the window, Old Man turned to Anakin. “Master Broken-Nose?”

The podracer shrugged. “That nose has taken more than its fair share of beatings and… I didn’t really catch his name.”

Old Man chuckled a little, glancing away for a moment before he sighed. “I’m sorry. Things are… Nevermind. Please forgive my temper tantrum, Anakin. I had hoped to avoid discussing the Clone Wars while I was here.”

Anakin frowned, head tilted. “Are they that bad?”

“Yes,” Old Man nodded, glancing over at Little Sister. “Did you not share that with him?”

“She stopped at the bugs,” Anakin explained. “When I lost my arm.”

“Ah.”

Little Sister looked back and forth between the two men, her lips pulled to the side as she wondered if she needed to say something or if this was how Old Man naturally interacted with his Anakin. She couldn’t imagine being this stiff and reserved but she also wasn’t male and had had to step into the massive boots left behind by Qui-Gon Jinn’s death.

She almost felt sorry for Old Man.

“You know what?” Anakin said, putting his hands on his chair for emphasis. “I believe you. I’m going to trust that you are who you say you are. That you’re from some weird parallel reality where I’m a Jedi and you’re my master.”

“Don’t forget Ahsoka,” Old Man replied, a warm expression on his face. “She’s your Padawan and a very promising young woman.”

“I have a Padawan, too?” Anakin gasped at Little Sister. “How come you didn’t show me that? Where is she from? Is she feisty? Do I take good care of her?”

Little Sister laughed. “I think I will leave Old Man to tell you about dearest Ahsoka. I’m going to shower and then we can discuss brunch and the Duchess’s party this evening?”

“Oh yeah!” Anakin grinned, sitting up. “I don’t suppose you three came with formal wear, did you?”

“Do we look like the formal wear type?” Little Sister shook her head as Old Man snickered. “Where would we keep it?”

“I’ll have my stylist bring some stuff over then,” Anakin decided, standing up and going over to a datapad on the far bookshelf. “So… tell me about my Padawan, please?”

Old Man turned in his seat, watching the podracer move in space, noting how he was both like and not like Anakin. There was an extra movement here or there, a hitch from a crash injury, no doubt, but the innate power and grace of Anakin was there. The podracer moved through the room like a predator, fast, strong and confident but instead of wearing a thunderous scowl, he still smiled with the bright, sunny expression Obi-Wan barely remembered from when Anakin first joined the Order.

_Has it been so long since he was happy, really and truly happy? Have I been neglecting my duty to him as his friend and former master?_

“Uh? Hello? Obi-Wan? CorSec to Obi-Wan?” Anakin looked up from his datapad, his eyebrows raised. “You were going to tell me about this Ahsoka person?”

“You’re really going to let us stay here?” Old Man asked instead, standing up and walking over to the podracer. “We have no proof we are what we say we are and yet… you are willing to let us stay?”

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m most of the way there but, yes. I trust you. You can stay as long as you like.”

Old Man turned away, confused and puzzled by his own emotions. He was going to say “Thank you,” when Anakin interrupted him.

“You can stay on one condition.”

_Ah. A negotiation._

“What is that?” Old Man asked.

“Promise me you won’t ever lie to me,” Anakin asked, his blue eyes locked on Old Man’s stormy grey, the datapad and stories of Ahsoka’s exploits momentarily forgotten. “Promise me that and you can stay forever if you want.”

“Forever?” Old Man echoed, a bittersweet expression on his face. “I’m fairly certain you would get sick of me after a short while, Anakin.”

The podracer shrugged. “We’ll see. But I mean it. Promise me you won’t ever lie to me and I’ll give you my complete trust.”

Old Man peered up at the podracer and for a moment he saw his Anakin, all his fury and anger, saw the expression on his face when he realized Obi-Wan had tricked him into thinking he was dead.

_How could you do that? To Ahsoka? To me? I thought you were dead! I nearly killed you trying to avenge you! Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a breath, praying to the Force for guidance. _Please… do not let me fail this one too._

“I promise I will not lie to you, Anakin,” Old Man vowed, holding out his hand.

Anakin grinned and shook Old Man’s hand warmly. “Good. It’s nice to meet you, Master Obi-Wan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and may your 2017 be bigger, better, brighter and happier than 2016! 
> 
> If you'd like to squeal with me over Rogue One you can follow me over at [Fireflyfish.](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com)


	7. RSVP +3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and his sexy triplets have a lazy day watching holodrama _Desire Before Dishonor_ before getting ready for the Duchess of Mandalore's welcome party. Knowing that he is all thumbs when it comes to fashion, Anakin enlists some help in the form of Nuri, his stylist. Old Man considers a change, Arulas considers a palette change, and Little Sister is game for anything.

Arulas was deep into his meditation when it happened again: the wrenching, tugging, horrid feeling that something was  _ wrong _ . Something was trying to  _ call _ to him, to yank him to his feet and out the door and down the stairs. Just walk right past the Podracer and the other two and go to the balcony and…

“Arulas? Are you alright?” Little Sister’s voice punctured whatever control the strange intruder had gained over him and he shook his head. Glancing over at the young woman combing her wet hair out, Arulas took a breath and gave her a charming smile. “I am now, my dearest sister. How was your washing up?”

“That is an amazing refresher and a hedonist’s shower,” Little Sister chuckled, peering over the balcony where Old Man and Anakin were quietly discussing something. “So… what was wrong with him? That was most uncharacteristic behavior for… myself.”

Arulas shrugged, resting his hands on the railing. “Haven’t the slightest clue. He just paced and scowled and muttered something about ‘karking Rako Hardeen’.”

“Who is Rako Hardeen?” she asked, working through a tangle. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Nor have I,” Arulas replied, glancing over at her. “He might even be ahead of my time line.”

“I can’t imagine what he’s been through,” Little Sister murmured, her brows furrowed and her gaze sad and sorrowful. “What you’ve both been through.”

Arulas looked away, letting a nasty barb die on his tongue.  _ Making her an enemy will not aid you in any fashion. And besides… she means well.  _

“Yes… well we all have our burdens,” Arulas said diplomatically. “I'm sure you've heard every possible insult the Galaxy can throw at a young woman and that cannot be at all enjoyable.” 

Little Sister shrugged. “It is what it is. Are you coming down to join us?”

Arulas frowned back at his room and called his saber through the open door, hooking it back into his belt. “Yes. I believe I heard you say something about brunch?”

“It is the best meal of the day,” Little Sister observed as she gazed down the stairs. “Anakin, I must compliment you on your refresher furnishings. That shower was… transportive.”

“Glad you liked it!” the Podracer grinned, leaning back into his chair. “It's a small thing but for a kid from Tatooine, a good shower stall is a must.”

Arulas walked over to the sofa where Old Man and Anakin were sitting, resting one leg and his hip on the back of the piece. “Little Sister has informed me there was talk of brunch?”

“I'm sure you can find something edible in the refrigerator,” Old Man replied, arching a brow. “There was enough food to feed the 212 left over from last night.”

“What's the 212?” Anakin asked Little Sister, who replied with a warm expression. 

“It's the number of our personal attack battalion.”

“You have a battalion?!” Anakin gasped, whirling around for more information, his eyes alight. “Is that bigger than a legion?”

Little Sister rested her hands on her hips and gave Old Man a look. “Why is he asking about legions? And to answer your question, the 212 is a bit larger than Anakin’s 501st Legion.”

“I have a legion?!”

Old Man groaned softly, behind his hand. “Oh sweet Force, preserve us.”

Arulas chuckled. “But that can wait because the darkness hungers and since I see no babies on the premises I'm afraid we shall have to go out.”

“Good idea! We can get you something a little less Jedi to wear while we’re out,” Anakin stood up to head back upstairs to take a shower. “I'll be down in twenty.”

Once Anakin was upstairs and the door to his bedroom closed, Old Man and Little Sister turned to glance at Arulas. 

“What?” the Sith Lord asked, holding his hands open. 

“‘The darkness hungers’?” Old Man snorted as Little Sister rolled her eyes. “Did you honestly say that with a straight face? You make a poor Sith.”

“Oh don’t say that, Old Man,” Arulas smirked, striding over to his Jedi twin, a cruel smile twisting its way onto his face. “That will only encourage me and I thought we had already declared a truce.”

“He’s right, Obi-Wan. Now be nice, both of you.” Little Sister commanded, pushing between the two men, breaking up whatever squabble they were trying to start. “And Arulas?”

Old Man gazed off to the side, annoyed at the gentle reprimand as Arulas turned to look at her, curious. “Yes, dearest sister?”

“The baby eating joke is a bit stale,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve heard better jokes from Asajj Ventress. You might want to rethink your material before we meet the Duchess tonight.” 

And with that, Little Sister jogged up the steps to her room.

Arulas looked back at Old Man, who shrugged and sat down on the sofa to wait for Anakin and Little Sister to rejoin them, leaving the Sith Lord to stare out the window, his thoughts torn between what had happened during his meditation and just what he would say to the Duchess when he saw her again.

 

* * *

Brunch passed quickly, with Anakin regaling them with tales of his adventures in the racing world. He signed autographs for about five minutes after they left the restaurant, posing for holos with a few young fans and a pair of young women from Pantora. Once he was able to pull himself away from the clutch of adoring sentients, Anakin let out a happy sound. “Sorry about that. I can’t resist kids.”

“I’m fairly certain those young Pantoran ladies were quite legal for what they had in mind for you,” Arulas chuckled, watching them pout and sashay their way around the corner, calling for Anakin one last time, who politely waved and then let his blandly pleasant mask collapse once they were alone again. 

“Are you alright?” Old Man asked, concerned at the podracer’s sudden exhaustion, radiating outward like a poisonous fog. “Should we stop that next time we are accosted by your fanbase?”

“No no!” Anakin shook his head, startled at Old Man’s suggestion. “I’m fine. I didn’t get enough sleep last night, that’s all. And besides, I need to keep that sweet endorsement money going if I’m taking care of two Jedi and a Sith Lord.”

“We are more than capable of taking care of ourselves, Anakin,” Old Man commented, his voice full of concern. “Do not think you need to inconvenience yourself on our behalf.”

“Yes, I’m sure there are plenty of casinos we can go swindle,” Arulas snorted as he walked ahead of the group. “I’m sure there are at least two more Hutts we can piss off before the entire Syndicate comes after us.”

“Two?” Little Sister chuckled, glancing back at Anakin and Old Man. “Who is alive in your world that’s dead in mine?”

“Who isn’t?” Arulas quipped and the two started quietly comparing their worlds as Anakin and Old Man followed.

“Is he always so… negative?” Anakin asked Old Man, trying to be polite. “I mean, if this is normal…”

“I wish I knew,” Old Man sighed, fussing with his beard. “I… I have never considered what I would be like if I turned to the dark side but clearly some of the flaws of my youth would raise their ugly heads again.”

“The flaws of your youth?” Anakin laughed, shaking his head. “You talk like you’re sixty years old! You have to be what? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

Old Man blushed a little and turned away, flattered but embarrassed. “I am thirty-six, if you must know.”

“Damn!” Anakin leaned in to give Old Man a closer look, an approving smile on his lips. “You are one very attractive thirty-six year-old, Master Obi-Wan.”

Anakin’s words seemed to short circuit Old Man’s synapses for a moment and he watched the podracer tilt his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turned up. As higher brain function sputtered to life with a panicked  _ Say something, you old fool!  _ Old Man managed to stammer out an embarrassed. “A-am I?”

“You are,” Anakin replied, his eyebrows quirking upwards twice before he hurried to catch up to Little Sister and Arulas. “You’re going the wrong way. We parked two blocks west.”

Stunned into a flustered silence, Old Man followed after Anakin, Arulas and Little Sister, trying to will away the blush on his cheeks.

_ Thank the Force the beard hides most of it. _

 

* * *

After a nap for Anakin, some meditation for Old Man and Little Sister, and a bit of form work for Arulas, the four reconvened in the living room. 

“Nuri is coming over in an hour,” Anakin announced, his hands on his hips and a wide grin on his face. “And since we have some free time before Nuri and her crew work their magic, I thought we could watch a holo.”

“A holo?” Old Man echoed, an eyebrow arched. “You want us to watch a holovid with you?”

“Yes,” Anakin nodded, his eyes bright with excitement, but there was a thread of worry there too. “Just one episode. I promise.”

“Episode?” Arulas asked, his lips pursed. “Implying that there is more to come?”

“Yes?” Anakin stretched the word out, long and anxious. “I promise you’ll love it and you can tell me all the things they get wrong! Think of it as an education!”

Little Sister canted her head to the side. “This one episode wouldn’t happen to be from  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ , would it?”

Anakin shrugged his shoulders and gave them what he hoped was his best innocent expression. “Maybe?”

“Oh, I am  _ not _ watching that!” Arulas huffed, standing up and moving back to the kitchen. “I have far more important things to do with my time than fill it full of Jedi rot and propaganda.”

“Aww! C’mon, Arulas!” Anakin pleaded, his face managing to melt into the most adorably crumpled puppy dog face Old Man had ever seen and he had seen a lot of them on that same face. “Old Man and Little Sister are going to watch, right?”

“You have the same face as their Padawans,” Arulas retorted. “They are constitutionally incapable of saying ‘No’ to you, something I, on the other hand, excel at.”

“That is not true!” Little Sister said, turning around on the couch to point a finger at Arulas. “I say ‘No’ to Anakin all the time. He just doesn’t listen to me.”

“Perhaps you are not forceful enough in your admonitions,” Arulas smirked, getting himself a glass of something that may or may not have been alcoholic. It was hard to tell.

“And here I thought mine was the only one who had gone selectively deaf,” Old Man chuckled, standing up to pat the podracer on the shoulder comfortingly. “We will watch your show, Anakin. I promise. Just let me make myself some tea and you call tell me all about it.”

“You will?” Anakin’s face lit up and Old Man had to remind himself that smiling-induced toe curling was generally discouraged by the Code. He hurried to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil up some hot water. 

“Yes, of course we will,” Little Sister said, glaring daggers at Arulas before an idea struck her. “And now that I think about it, Arulas can’t watch.”

“What?” The Sith Lord frowned at her, his arms folded over his chest. “Do you honestly think I am so dull as to fall for your reverse psychology, dearest sister?”

Little Sister glanced over at Old Man, who gestured with one hand as if to say,  _ Carry on, my dear. _

“I don’t care,” she said, shooing Arulas back to the second floor of the apartment, who was a bit startled at how motherly and resolute she was. “Shoo! Shoo! No Sith Lords allowed! Go brood on the unfairness of Jedi propaganda and all the ways you will have your revenge upstairs. Anakin? Do we have a datapad he can entertain himself with?”

Anakin picked up one from a console table, letting out a “Wizard!” as Little Sister levitated it out of his hands and over to Arulas, who took the pad with a dark face. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Research?” Little Sister suggested. “I don’t know and do not care. Off with you! Go, go! Old Man? Will you make me a cup of tea?”

“Of course,” Old Man replied from the kitchen where he was busy making up two cups of tea. “Anakin? Can I get you something from this grand hall you call a kitchen?”

“I’ll have some tea, too,” he answered, setting up his holoviewer and pulling out the datastick that contained the first season of  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ . “With milk and sugar please.”

Old Man sighed, shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Little Sister walked into the kitchen and picked up her cup, adding a spoonful of sugar, stirring it in as she frowned at her male counterpart. “What’s wrong with milk and sugar?”

“It’s… it distracts from the taste of the tea,” Old Man explained, mixing up Anakin’s mug with concentrated precision. “Sapir never seemed to taste quite right with additions.”

“Good thing we’re drinking black tea from Gatalenta,” she chuckled, taking a slow sip before speaking in a low soft voice. “Are you feeling better? Arulas and I were a bit worried earlier.”

Watching the convection clouds thrown up by the addition of milk into the red-brown tea, Old Man gave a brief nod. “Yes. I’m… I’m sorry if my brief… tantrum upset you. I… I am tired and seemingly incapable of my usual self control. Do forgive me, Li… Mina.”

Little Sister reached out to squeeze Old Man’s shoulder, her voice warm and kind. “No apologies are necessary, Ben. And do not think you must suffer alone. We are siblings, are we not? And siblings confide in one another things they feel they cannot burden their… already overtaxed Padawans with, no?”

Old Man glanced up from the tea and scanned her face, looking for something Little Sister couldn’t divine. He gave her a half-smile. “The same goes for you. Although I may be further along in time, that does not lessen the burdens you carry in any way.”

“Why don’t we try carrying our burdens to the sofa so we can start the holo?” Podracer interrupted, grabbing the two mugs of tea on the counter and smiling brightly at the duo. “We’ve got less than an hour before Nuri gets here and I want to know every detail they got wrong. And you’re going to have questions. Lots of questions.”

“What are we watching?” Little Sister asked, following Anakin as Old Man brought up the rear. “You’re making this sound like some kind of complicated historical narrative.”

“Will there be a test afterwards?” Old Man teased. “Should I be taking notes?”

“Nope!” Anakin grinned, flopping into the middle of the sofa and holding up Old Man’s mug of tea. “I’ve already got them written out. Let’s get started.”

Little Sister took her spot on the sofa to the right of Anakin and Old Man settled down onto the left. The lights downstairs dimmed automatically and the sound proofing for the outside balcony was turned all the way up as the stirring music of the holo show started up. 

Warm, resonate strings blended seamlessly with heavy drums to portray an image of the galaxy as a whole, twisting and writhing around the bright center of Coruscant, different planets and systems represented by miniature icons. There were names that flew past and cities that the two Obi-Wans recognized and they both let out a sound at the depiction of a clockwork Jedi Temple and a Senate building. Older capital ships seemed to fly around the center of the galaxy, representing battles and who knew what else as the swirling music came to a thundering climax and then the opening faded away to reveal the title of the first episode.

_ Desire Before Dishonor: Episode 1 - Lineage _

“Lineage?” Old Man asked, puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“Shhh! Master Gregor will explain in just a minute,” Anakin hissed, already enraptured as the holo opened up onto a fairly good representation of the Main Hall of the Jedi Temple. Two figures walked past the large statues, a Padawan and a Master, one tall and broad-shouldered, the other a hair shorter but no less impressive. 

“Not bad,” Little Sister commented, sipping her tea. “They even got the statues right but that braid is a little too brightly colored for a Padawan and we most certainly do not have beads in our braids.”

“Master?” the Padawan spoke in the holo, his voice soft with a hint of cracking. “Are the rumors true?”

“That’s Padawan Ayden,” Anakin explained in a stage whisper to Little Sister and Old Man. “The first three seasons follow him and his journey from Padawan to Master.”

“Ah huh,” Little Sister sipped her tea. “And what is his Master’s name?”

The shorter master on screen said nothing and his Padawan scampered around in front of him, his hood falling back to reveal a striking redhead with green eyes and perfect nose. “Master Gregor! Is it true Master Leeson has betrayed the Order?”

“Now is not the time for wild conjecture, my young Padawan,” the master on the holoscreen said, his face still hidden under his hood. “Our ship is docking as we speak and we cannot keep the Queen of Patalonia waiting.”

“I like him,” Old Man chuckled. “Where is Patalonia?”

“They made it up for the show,” Anakin said, happy and relieved his new companions were enjoying his favorite holo. “I think it’s based off of Pantora or Naboo, maybe.”

“What happened to your notes?” Little Sister teased, giving Anakin a gentle elbow nudge. 

“Will you two just watch the show?” Anakin sighed, relaxing, his arms resting on the back of the sofa an inch or two away from pulling both Little Sister and Old Man closer for a good and proper cuddle as they watched the stoic and put-upon Master Gregor lead his short-tempered and hot-blooded Padawan Ayden through the complex game of galactic diplomacy and subterfuge as they attempted to keep the Queen of Patalonia alive.

 

* * *

“Why were there three different attempts on her life?” 

“No, no. I want to know who this Master Leeson is and why won’t Padawan Ayden shut up about him? Is he based on a historical Jedi?”

“What year is this supposed to be taking place?”

“Patalonia is basically Naboo, right? With that makeup it has to be Naboo.”

Anakin Skywalker, the greatest human podracer in galactic history, was in complete and utter fanboy heaven.

Not only had he managed to watch an episode of his favorite show with not one, but two Jedi, but they liked it! They had questions! They wanted to watch the next episode. 

“And why does Gregor keep throwing his robes around like that?” Old Man complained, gesturing with one hand. “Doesn’t he know that’s wasteful? The Temple has to replace those.”

Little Sister arched an eyebrow at Old Man. “And where, exactly, is  _ your _ robe right now, Old Man?”

Anakin let out a low whistle and leaned backwards so that his Jedi could argue without him getting in the way. 

Fortunately for Old Man, the doorbell chimed, bright and cheerful, and all thoughts of lost Jedi robes were forgotten as Podracer hurried to the door. “You two keep talking. I think this is Nuri and the crew.”

“Who is Nuri?” Arulas asked from where he was sitting at the top of the steps, nearly giving Anakin a heart attack in surprise. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Kriffing Hell,” Podracer muttered, shaking his head. “Damn near thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest.”

“Nuri is Anakin’s stylist,” Old Man explained as he gathered up the empty tea mugs and returned them to the kitchen. “Apparently we are not fit to be seen in polite society like this.”

“Obviously,” Arulas smirked at Old Man. “Well, you could definitely use some shearing. Little Sister just needs to let down her lovely hair.”

Little Sister rolled her eyes. “And you need to mind your tongue.”

“Anakin,  _ darling! _ ” a feminine voice exploded into the room, excitement, joy and pleasure crashed into the room like a tidal wave, nearly swamping the three Force sensitives in unbridled glee. “Please tell me that you have a challenge for me this time and not some leggy Twi’lek entourage that followed you home by accident. Models are not tookas, my dear. They don’t just wander after whatever tall, broad-shouldered sexy podracing god they come across.”

Arulas couldn’t resist a snicker as he walked down the stairs to join Old Man and Little Sister who were glancing at each other with something approaching fear and trepidation. “You two alright?”

“Who is that?” Old Man whispered, hidden from view by the layout of the apartment. “And is she talking about his silver Twi’leks?”

“I promise they’re not models this time,” Anakin chuckled, his voice warm but not at all reassuring to the two Jedi. “Come in. Where’s the rest of your people?”

“Tiff is coming with the shoes and accessories,” Nuri said, her, his, its? voice loud and clear. “And Signi is coming up with the clothes. Now where are these challenges you promised me? You swore to me that they were blank canvases and I got so excited at the prospect of working with new clay and… By the Stars of Alderaan! Who are these gorgeous creatures?”

Old Man, Little Sister and even Arulas blushed, turning to Anakin for assistance. 

“Nuri? These are my friends,” Anakin said, gesturing to each as he spoke. “They’re siblings. The oldest is Ben…”

“Hello,” Old Man bowed his head politely.

“And then Arulas.”

Arulas recovered enough to smirk and nod in Nuri’s general direction. 

“And the youngest is Mina.”

“Hello there,” Little Sister smiled, or at least she hoped she smiled. She felt a little intimidated by the tall, purple-skinned creature with fur and jade green eyes who was almost a head taller than Anakin and existing somewhere in the middle of their species gender spectrum, assuming there was one. 

Nuri gasped in delight and pulled Anakin into a tight hug. “Oh they are delicious! I am so excited! Can we do a theme with them? Where are you going because that will dictate what I pick out. Please sit down, you three. There’s no need to stand around looking gorgeous and terrified on my account. Really, Ani! What have you told them about me?”

“Nothing!” Anakin ran back to hold open the turbolift doors as Tiff and Signi rolled in giant hovercrates that were apparently full of clothing and accessories that the assembled Obi-Wans had the sinking suspicion that they were going to be trying on. “I knew I couldn’t do you justice so I figured I would just surprise them.”

“Typical,” Nuri beamed at the trio. “Sit! Please! Don’t be so terrified! I won’t eat you. My people evolved beyond that millenia ago. Sit!”

Old Man sank down slowly onto the sofa, Little Sister joining him as Arulas lounged on the arm, covering his grin with his gloved hand. The Jedi sat a little closer than was necessary, no doubt finding strength in numbers. 

“Now… where are we going tonight?” Nuri asked, eyes bright and fangs sharp. “I’m assuming you’ll be on Coruscant, right?”

“It’s a welcome party for the Duchess of Mandalore,” Anakin explained, walking over with a mug of tea for Nuri and two for Old Man and Little Sister. When Arulas looked up at him expectantly, Anakin shrugged. “The caf is brewing. Give it a minute.”

“Ooo! I love their aesthetic,” Nuri sighed, taking a long sip of tea. “And their armor! I love those little capes! They are completely impractical but so chic!”

“Impractical?” Arulas echoed. 

“Of course!” Nuri laughed, waving one long-fingered hand that was decorated with elegantly minimalist black rings that highlighted the pale lavender of its skin. “What mercenary in their right mind flies around with a jetpack  _ and _ a cape? All the damn thing has to do is catch the wrong breeze and there you have it. Deep-fried Mandalorian.”

Arulas blinked. “Oh.”

“That is a good point,” Little Sister observed, sipping her tea. “I never thought about it like that before.”

“And don’t get me started on Jedi!” Nuri chuckled, rocking in place with humor as Anakin’s eyes widened and he paled beneath his tan. “For an ancient and mystical order of magical monks, why must they  _ always _ run around in such boring and sensible clothing? Would it be a crime to see a color other than oatmeal and ecru on a Jedi? Does this… Force forbid them from wearing a rich shade of aubergine or perhaps a lovely misty blue?”

There was a pause and Old Man chuckled into his tea. “Brown is cheaper to produce en masse. The fabric budget for the Temple is outrageous considering all the robes Master Gregor has left lying about the galaxy.”

Nuri burst out into a torrent of laughter, dragging the rest of the party into a good mood as Old Man chuckled behind his mug, pleased. 

“So you are Jedi,” Nuri smirked, setting the cup of tea down as if the whole conversation had been some kind of complicated game of verbal chess.

Old Man nodded. “What gave it away?”

“The lightsabers and the ecru,” Nuri grinned, fingers clasped together. “Although I’m not quite sure what’s going on with all this black over here.”

“Arulas is a freelancer,” Little Sister explained. “And he likes black. A lot.”

“Costume?” Nuri questioned.

“Aesthetic,” Arulas replied as blandly as he could. 

Nuri snorted. “That’s a waste of a perfectly attractive man. You should be wearing something to bring out those eyes of yours. And too much black makes you look like something out of  _ Battle of the Blades _ and if we  _ must _ look like a tawdry holodrama I will accept nothing less than  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ .”

“Oh not that again,” Arulas snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “I do not need any assistance in dressing myself, Anakin. I am more than properly attired to attend your party.”

“You look like a mercenary,” Nuri observed, pointing to the lightsaber on his hip, his ever-present gloves and the toes of his boots which looked like they had kicked one too many opponents in sensitive places. “And that cloak is two seasons out of style. If you won’t let me pick something out for you then at least pick something from what we’ve assembled.”

“Do you really want to be re-introduced to the Duchess dressed up like a Sith Lord?” Little Sister whispered to Arulas as she stood up, a soft hand on his shoulder. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

Arulas frowned at the floor and the words slipped free so softly that only she could hear it. “Eighteen years.”

Little Sister stared out the far window, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “Let them help.”

“If you would pardon me, Nuri, Anakin,” Little Sister turned around. “I need to visit the refresher and then I will happily submit myself to Nuri’s assistance. I know very little about civilian fashion and I would appreciate any help you can provide.”

Nuri stood up and bowed low to Little Sister, green eyes flashing with something that was hard to define but it was warm and inviting. “I eagerly await our collaboration, daughter of the Force.”

“Hey! Stop hitting on my triplets!” Anakin ordered as Little Sister darted off to the refresher. “I found them first. Get your own, Nuri.”

Nuri shrugged. “Birds gotta fly. Mon Cala gotta swim, and I have to flirt, Anakin. Now, you go put on something to get us in the mood for a party and I will work my usual magic.”

Anakin did as he was told, something that Old Man decided he was simply going to have to get used to, a cheerful popular song from the holonet spreading out through the apartment as Nuri’s assistants, an elegantly attired Togruta male and a stunning Pantoran female starting hanging up all sorts of dresses, pants, shirts and jackets. The sheer number and variety of colors, materials and glittering sparkles was almost more than Old Man could stand. “I’m not really sure all of this fuss is necessary, Anakin. Surely I could just borrow something of yours.”

“Nuh uh!” Nuri shook a finger. “You are not borrowing anything from him. He dresses himself in the dark and goes out in public like some kind of grease monkey. That is not what one wears to meet a Duchess! Now come here, Ben. We’ll get you started while your sister is answering nature’s call.”

“Have fun, Ben,” Arulas teased, his smile all white teeth and sharp edges. “I’m sure Nuri can make it work for you.”

Old Man narrowed his eyes at the Sith Lord, slate meeting sulphur and he marched towards his fashionable fate. “I am at your service, Nuri.”

“Excellent!” Nuri scanned him up and down walking around him in a way that Old Man feel uncomfortably  _ observed _ . Turning to Tif and Signi, Nuri started pulling out an assortment of clothes, holding them up and examining each one before handing them off to one or the other. Apparently the clothes handed to Tiff were rejected and returned to the racks; the ones handed to Signi got another look. 

Anakin walked by after a few minutes, his voice soft. “You doing okay?”

“I am not sure,” Old Man said. “Your friend Nuri seems to be deep in their… process and I am loathe to interrupt them.”

“Oh Anakin, that accent is so delicious!” Nuri swooned, tossing aside another shirt to Tiff before coming to a decision. “Here we are! Please pick one outfit and try it on for me.”

Old Man found himself with a small mountain of clothing in his arms as a polite but firm dismissal. He glanced back at Anakin as he started upstairs, deciding that it was better to get it over and done with. 

“You’re next, henchman!” Nuri trilled. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Old Man was a little disappointed he wasn’t going to get to see Nuri and Arulas duke it out over his love of black.

 

* * *

“No darling. That makes you look pudgy.”

“Pudgy? This is the second time someone has called me fat in twenty-four hours!”

“It’s the cut, my love.”

Arulas rolled his eyes, turning back to Nuri. “I am not your love. And what is wrong with this?”

“On some planets, nothing. The people of the Nidai system had a fad for a while where the men pretended to have a pot belly by stuffing little hard pillows in their many layered garments,” Nuri shrugged. “I don’t understand why but they did. Probably as a signifier of rank and title. Either way, why on earth would you want to hide all this luscious muscle if you don’t have to? We should go sheer!”

Anakin and Little Sister burst out into a torrent of laughter and turned away, arguing over who was going to get to tell Old Man first. 

“I am not wearing something sheer to meet Satine!” Arulas snapped, his eyes bright and harsh. “This is perfectly fine!”

Nuri refused. “Nuh uh. It’s hideous. Now this… This is perfectly fine.”

Arulas was presented with something that was deep purple, made of real leather and velvet, complete with a set of matching gloves. He frowned over at the stylists, who gestured for the Sith Lord to run upstairs and get changed. 

Momentarily defeated, and very annoyed by it, Arulas headed upstairs, muttering all the way.

“Mina!” Nuri called, drawing the last vowel out like a song. “Come over here and let me take a look at you!”

Little Sister looked at Anakin. “Wish me luck?”

“You’ll be just fine,” Anakin winked. “Remember, Nuri’s people don’t eat humans anymore.”

“That is not reassuring!” Little Sister protested as she marched off to her fate.

 

* * *

“Where is the rest of this dress?”

“Backless is in style! You look amazing! Doesn’t she look amazing, Anakin?”

Anakin bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yes. She looks incredible.”

Little Sister turned around to glare at Anakin. “I am afraid, Nuri, that this is perhaps a bit more fashionable than I am comfortable with.”

Pouting, Nuri nodded and handed over another dress, this one in a beautiful, emerald green and sent her off upstairs to change. “Try this one but I and every hot-blooded sentient at that party has been deprived of something truly lovely.”

“My apologies,” Little Sister said, shaking her head as she gathered up the diaphanous skirt and dashed upstairs. “Oh Hello, Ben! Aren’t you terribly handsome?”

Old Man let Little Sister run past him as he came downstairs. “I want to know one thing. How did you find out my shoe size?”

“Anakin is a most talented spy,” Nuri chuckled, walking over to Old Man with an assessing gaze. “Oh yes! I am so glad you went with the blue and the slate. It brings out those lovely eyes of yours. Are they augmented?”

“My eyes?” Old Man asked, startled. “No! Of course not. Why would I do that?”

“Pity,” Nuri pouted. “I would have asked for the hex code. Anakin? Do you approve?”

Old Man glanced over at the Podracer, whose own smile was bordering on licentious, his lower lip caught beneath his teeth as he nodded in approval. “Two big thumbs up!”

“That’s not all that’s up,” Nuri snickered.

Old Man turned bright red and covered his face. “Am I done? Can I be seen in public?”

“Not until we do something about this hair,” Nuri tsked, turning to Signi. “Make me proud, my son.”

Signi bowed, leading Old Man to the downstairs refresher that had apparently been there all this time that no one thought to mention to him. There was a chair waiting there and Signi, who was blissfully silent, gestured for Old Man to sit down while the Togrutan unrolled his tools of the trade. 

“What would you like done?” Signi finally asked, turning back to Old Man. “Nuri is all for transformation but… I can hear your heartbeat. We can just neaten you up if you’d like.”

Old Man was surprised until he remembered that Togrutan montrals gave them extra sensitive hearing and he let out a breath. “I… I admit I was overwhelmed by your boss but… Honestly I’ve had this hair cut for nearly three years. I haven’t really had the time to concern myself with my personal grooming.”

Signi nodded. “I see. Jedi business keeps you running?”

“Something like that,” Old Man sighed, finally taking a long hard look at himself in the mirror. “Vanity is not encouraged at the Temple.”

_ But you’re not at the Temple. _ A traitorous thought slipped past his awareness, a soft teasing thing.  _ And if you’re going to pretend to be a mercenary, does it have to be an old one? _

“Well then why don’t I just neaten it up?” Signi offered, picking up his scissors. “Make you look a little bit more respectable.”

_ Yes, Old Man, we must be respectable, mustn’t we? They frown on fun at the Temple.  _

“Shall we get started, Master Jedi?” Signi asked politely. 

Old Man nodded. “Yes. I suppose we should.”

Signi started to comb out Old Man’s hair, his voice calm and soothing. “Or… we could make a few changes. Nothing drastic.”

“Oh?”

 

* * *

Arulas came downstairs attired in what Nuri picked out for him, his hair brushed back from his face and tucked back into a ponytail and his usual confident expression back on his face. His suit was well fitted to his shoulders, nipped in at the waist and unlike what he picked out before, he did not look pudgy or like some kind of second-rate holovillian. He wore a purple so dark it might as well have been black with a high neck and a new pair of gloves that were designed less for fighting and more for polite conversation over canapes. 

“Nuri… I have misjudged your expertise,” Arulas said, bowing a little to the stylist. “There’s even room to fight in this.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Nuri smiled, twisting open a bottle of Dantooine beer. “Now if you’re going to insist on taking that murder stick with you, Tiff can help you rig up an arm holster.”

“Murder stick?” Arulas arched an eyebrow but Tiff, gestured to his waist, her fingernails brightly reflective in the light. “Ah… the lightsaber. Where are Ben and Anakin?”

“Getting a trim,” Nuri pointed out, sipping from a bottle of beer. “Anakin is getting dressed.” 

“I am willing to go out in this,” Little Sister announced, bounding down the stairs lightly and breezing past Arulas in a cloud of emerald green silk, split open bell sleeves and just enough visible skin and decolletage to be considered modestly fashionable. “Oh! Where has Anakin gone?”

“Changing,” Nuri said from behind the beer bottle. “You look simply amazing, my dear. Arulas, does she not take your breath away?”

Arulas had never really considered whether or not Little Sister could in fact take someone’s breath away but if anyone died of asphyxiation at the party tonight, he would lay odds that it would be some poor fellow who had the misfortune of gazing at Little Sister for too long. 

“You are ravishing, dear sister,” Arulas purred, giving her a proper bow, which earned an eyeroll from Nuri. “Men and women shall be flinging themselves at you all evening. I hope you’re prepared.”

“I’ll be taking my, what did you call it?” Little Sister chuckled. “My ‘murder stick’? I think I’ll be just fine.”

“Oh why are you so dead set on killing the mood?” Nuri shook its head, soft purple fur ruffling for a moment, before sending Little Sister over to Tiff for her accessories and “a hairstyle that doesn’t look like her lover just took down her braids. That is far too intimate and casual for a party with Mandalorians.”

Little Sister walked off with Tiff, fiddling with the ends of her coppery hair. “Please don’t make me look like I come from Naboo. Padme tried to do that to me once and it gave me a migraine.”

That left Nuri and Arulas alone for a few minutes while they waited for the others. Arulas walked into the kitchen and pulled out a beer for himself and strolled back to the couch, sitting at the far end and observing the tall, elegant being, who was smiling as they both took a drink. 

“Do they know how important this meeting is to you?” Nuri asked Arulas, watching him from the corner of jade green eyes. 

Arulas frowned and took a long sip of his cold drink. “Ben does. Mina… Mina has a faint notion, I suppose.”

“Don’t you think you should tell them?” the stylist gestured with one hand. “Anakin makes a piss-poor wingman. No one can look past him. Even I pale in comparison to that beautiful boy and I’m gorgeous.”

Chuckling softly, Arulas shook his head. “If I need Ben’s assistance in this… I have already lost the battle.”

“So you agree that I  _ am _ gorgeous!” Nuri cackled, relaxing back into the squabs of the sofa. “I like you, Henchman.”

“When did I agree to be called that?” The Sith Lord grumbled, arms folded over his chest.

Nuri grinned, the white and sharp expression of one predator recognizing another. “You didn’t disagree.”

“Nuri!” Anakin shouted from the top of the stairs, leaning over, his dark honey curls hanging around his face like the paintings of handsome youths from Telladoria, breathtakingly beautiful and so pleased with himself. “If I have to tell you one more time to stop flirting with my sexy triplets I am going to wear that green, furry coat you hate.”

“Anakin Skywalker, if you mess up all my hard work to make you presentable I will scratch up that sexy red speeder in the garage!” Nuri retorted, unsheathing a claw to clink it against the beer bottle. “Now come down here and let me see how you look.”

“Why does he get to wear black and  _ I  _ don’t?” Arulas gestured to the ensemble that consisted of quite a bit of black, synthleather and a blue shirt that just barely peeked out from beneath all the black to make the podracer’s eyes stand out all the more. 

“He’s paying,” Nuri shrugged. “You look like sex on legs, Anakin.”

“Perfect!” Anakin grinned and then turned around to give Arulas a once over. “Wow… You… you’re…”

“Amazing? Decadent? Good enough to eat?” Nuri suggested, fingers tapping together with a smile. 

“Hot,” Anakin declared with a nod. 

Nuri and Arulas both held in their silent moans and their fears for the death of polite language. 

“Well, I am relieved that I am apparently now fit to see the Duchess,” Arulas sighed as he pulled the cuffs of his coat down over his gloves. “Where are Old Man and Little Sister?”

“I’m here!” Little Sister emerged from her room upstairs, hurrying back down the stairs in her swirl of verdant silk and a slightly less formal assortment of braids and curls that were much kinder to her head than a proper formal Naboo headdress. There were delicately filigreed cuffs on her wrists and a few shiny baubles in her hair and shoes that were surprisingly comfortable given their design. “I have not worn anything like this since I had to pretend to be married to… a fellow Jedi for an undercover mission. I hope this night ends better than that mission did.”

“Do tell! What happened?” Nuri leaned forward, ears perked in curiosity.

Little Sister shrugged. “It blew up in our faces. Literally.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Old Man asked as he emerged from the downstairs refresher, brushing the last few bit of hairs off the back of his neck. “I hope you weren’t seriously injured, my dear.”

Little Sister blinked in shock, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she remembered to speak. “I… I was fine. You…”

Old Man grimaced, a flush appearing on his cheeks and spreading out across his face.

His bare, well mostly bare, face. There was a carefully groomed layer of stubble that Anakin thought was illegally attractive and had he always been hiding those cheekbones under all that facial hair? His hair was trimmed into a tousled, messy style that not long looked younger but lighter as well, framing his blue eyes with a dashing bit of fringe.

“You shaved!” Arulas gaped, hurrying over to Old Man and walking around him, stunned. “And you cut your hair! What… what possessed you to do this?”

“Arulas!” Nuri and Little Sister scolded, the latter hurrying over to shoo him away from Old Man. “I think he is stunning! You look ten years younger, Ben.”

Old Man smiled weakly, glancing off to the side, close to dying of embarrassment. “Ah… well, thank you, Mina.”

Nuri elbowed Anakin who was still numb with shock. “Anakin? Doesn’t Ben look fantastic?”

“Nuri, there’s no need,” Old Man waved a hand in front of his face. “It will grow back. I…”

“I think you look kriffing sexy,” Anakin blurted out, seemingly shaken out of his haze of lust by yet another elbow and a pointed cough from the stylist. “Uhm… I mean, you look great, Ben.”

Old Man felt another wave of heat rise up on his cheeks and he turned away, focusing on the far windows, reminding himself that it didn’t matter what he looked like. He was still a Jedi Master and his overall level of “kriffing sexiness” didn’t matter on the battlefield. Besides, Anakin was flirting with everyone, not just Ben. 

It didn’t stop him from feeling a tiny thrill of pleasure though. 

“Fabulous!” Nuri gushed, hands clapped together. “Well now that we’re all the Force’s gift to sentients everywhere, here is your bill, my sexy little desert boy! Don’t do anything Nuri wouldn’t do!”

And in a flourish of praise, thanks and demands for all the salacious details later, Nuri, Signi and Tiff were gone, leaving the quartet in an echoing silence. 

“Well… shall we go?” Little Sister asked from her perch on the arm of the sofa. “I’m ready.”

“As am I,” Old Man sighed, standing up and offering his arm to Little Sister. “Anakin? Do you have a four-seater we could ride in?”

Anakin nodded, grabbing his keys and heading towards the lift that lead to the garage. “Yeah… we’ll take the red one that Nuri threatened to turn into a scratching post.”

“Where did you find Nuri?” Arulas asked as the group followed after Anakin. “I’ve not encountered that species before.”

“You need to get out more then,” Anakin suggested and held open the lift doors for Old Man and Little Sister, who carried themselves with all the poise and elegance of two senators or diplomats off to a formal audience with a head of state. “Could you try to be a little less attractive? I have to drive you know.”

“I suppose this is your punishment for wearing pants that are too tight,” Little Sister replied breezily. “Perhaps next time you will considered function before form, my very young Pa… Anakin.”

“Were you going to call me ‘Padawan’?” Anakin’s eyes lit up. “You were, weren’t you?”

“There will be no living with him now,” Arulas muttered. 

Shaking his head, Old Man replied, “She said it. She has to deal with it.”

“What of it?” Little Sister huffed off the elevator, turning pink as they made their way to the red speeder. She made a beeline for the front seat, much to the dismay of Arulas and Old Man who were not looking forward to being cooped up in the back together. 

Climbing into his seat, Anakin wiggled his eyebrows. “I know how these things work. I’ve seen season four and I’m always up for some… special lessons,  _ Master. _ ”

“I am going to strangle you before this night is over, aren’t I?” Little Sister groaned as they pulled out of the garage and into the night, Old Man bemoaning his fate as Arulas laughed at the two Jedi’s discomfort. 

“You know… I haven’t tried that yet. It might be fun. Are you going to use the Force?”

“ANAKIN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this surprise bonus chapter of Where Shall We Three Meet Again! I love this story and I work on it now and then between everything else I've got going. I hope y'all enjoyed _Desire Before Dishonor_ and Anakin's shameless flirting with Old Man! Next chapter is the party and SATINE, only the most important Mandalorian in the Galaxy!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at [Fireflyfish!](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And not to worry! Tano and Kenobi will be back on April 2nd as promised! :D


	8. Obi-Wan Kenobi, I Presume?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After accepting an invitation to the Duchess of Mandalore's welcome party, Podracer Anakin Skywalker called in the assistance of his personal stylist, the talented and insightful Nuri. After a delightful montage of fashion choices, Podracer and his "Sexy Triplets" are ready to head off into the Coruscanti night...

“For the record, I have no desire to see myself dancing in public, Old Man,” Arulas declared to the group in the red speeder as they flew through the crisp, cold air of Coruscant at dusk. “Are we understood?”

Old Man rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, slouching back into his seat. “Well then, if we are being brutally honest, Arulas, I have no desire to see you at all and yet here you are.”

“Does that mean he can dance?” Anakin asked Little Sister as she looked back at the two men in the back seat. 

“Probably. I can,” she sighed to Anakin. “Now, will you two stop sniping at each other for five minutes? Is everyone agreed on our story, before we go in?”

“Yes, yes! We’ve gone over this already,” Arulas muttered, waving away Little Sister’s concern. “We are freelance security hired by Anakin. By all the Sith hells, woman! Stop mothering me! Last time I checked my master was not an attractive woman with pert-- OW! Damnit, Old Man!”

“Hey! Don’t make me turn this speeder around!” Anakin shouted over the squabbling Kenobis. “Arulas, I know you’re anxious about seeing the Duchess again, but you’re going to have to learn to control yourself. Why don’t you take some slow breaths or something? Meditate and release your anxiety into the Force.”

Stunned into silence, all three Obi-Wans turned to gape in shock at Anakin, who glanced back at them, confused. “What? It’s what Master Gregor always says to Padawan Ayden!”

“He has to be a clone,” Arulas said to Old Man, who shook his head in dazed shock. “My Anakin would never say something like that.”

“That was an excellent suggestion, Anakin,” Little Sister smiled and turned back to the front. “It’s about time someone here started making some sense.”

“When can we expect to be there?” Old Man asked, leaning around Anakin’s shoulder to peer at the chrono on the dashboard. “And how long do we have to stay?”

“They’re holding the party in the Garden District so we have another twenty minutes,” Anakin guessed as he pulled up the map to the party’s location. “And I would say at least a few hours. I mean, I did call her in the middle of the night and told her all about you three. She at least deserves to meet my sexy triplets.”

“No!” Arulas shouted as Old Man emphatically refused. 

“No, she does not!”

“I think it's best we tell the Duchess you had a bit too much to drink with your staff,” Little Sister said, turning her gaze over the skyline. “You know… I can’t remember the last time I went to the Garden District.”

“If this reminiscing is going to take us to some sad story about the War, could I politely request a change of topic?” Arulas asked from the back seat, a few loose strands of hair flying free from his ponytail. “I would like to talk about Anakin’s silver lady friends.”

“You have a one-track mind!” Little Sister groaned. 

“What makes you think it was all girls?” Anakin laughed as they took a sharp curve and merged into traffic. 

“What?!” Arulas gasped as Old Man blinked in shock. “What exactly was the gender makeup of your tawdry headtail orgy?”

There was a sudden blast of popular music from the holo receiver in the dash, startling Arulas and Old Man as Little Sister scowled back at them with her finger on the volume control. “That is enough. I never, ever, want to hear another word about silver-painted Twi’leks of either gender ever again! Do I make myself clear, Obi-Wan?”

Arulas gaped at Little Sister, her furrowed brow and her stormy eyes, and decided that it was entirely possible to push the kind and gentle woman too far. 

“Why are you yelling at me?” Old Man protested. “I didn't say anything!”

Little Sister turned her head sharply and gave Old Man a Look that indicated that he had better button up or he was going to get a verbal beat-down as well. 

“Now, who is going to be at this party?” Little Sister smiled blandly as she turned around and settled back into her seat, the wrath of petite Master Kenobi tamed for now. “Anyone we’ve swindled?”

“Nah,” Anakin shook his head, making another turn. “Unless you've somehow managed to swindle some senators. You haven't, have you?”

Little Sister glanced back at Arulas, who shook his head. “That was the back room, my dear. We didn't make it that far.”

“Thank the Force,” Old Man sighed. “Will the Chancellor be there? I would like to avoid him if at all possible.”

“Why?” Arulas asked, watching the Jedi out of the corner of his eye. 

Old Man shrugged. “I do not care for him overly much and he might be familiar with Master Kenobi of the Temple.”

“Oh that's right,” Little Sister murmured as she twisted a lock of hair between two fingers. “Our other doppelgänger.”

“There's a fourth one of you?” Anakin gaped, glancing at the trio. “Guy? Girl? I'm assuming a Jedi, right?”

Old Man nodded. “He is a Jedi Knight and has an apprentice named Ahsoka Tano. Apparently he looks just like me or rather he looks like I did before Signi trimmed my beard. I hope I didn't get him into too much trouble.”

“He’ll be fine!” Arulas insisted, clapping Old Man on the shoulder. “What does he have to worry about other than Ahsoka’s atrocious spelling?”

“Her spelling was fine although her sentence structure left a great deal to be desired,” Old Man replied. “There were far too many run-on sentences and poorly placed commas.”

“What are they talking about?” Anakin asked Little Sister, who helpfully explained that Ahsoka was the Padawan Learner of Master Kenobi in their current world. 

“In my world, and Old Man’s, I’m assuming, she's your Padawan. Well, honestly, it's more like a joint mastery at this point.”

“I HAVE A PADAWAN?! I'm just like Master Gregor! Do I get a cool robe too?”

The annoyed groans of Arulas trailed after the speeder as Anakin spent the rest of the trip trying to get more information out of Little Sister and Old Man about Padawan Ahsoka and the dangerous exploits she and Master Skywalker got up to. 

“Next time I open my mouth, Old Man? Shoot me.”

“As you wish, Little Sister.”

 

* * *

Coruscant, for all its glittering skyscrapers and spaceports teeming with ships from all over the galaxy, was not a monolithic ecumenopolis. There were large swathes of the city-planet that were given over to an artificial ocean or to vast parks that entertained the populace in between their daily jobs of working the levers and gears of power. And then there were the townhomes and estates of the elite and moneyed. 

The ultrarich all had homes in the Garden District, in an illusion of natural-material homes and flourishing balcony gardens that seemed quite out of place to Old Man and Little Sister. They hardly ever had a reason to go to the Gardens, as the locals called it, meeting the rich and powerful at their offices or in the Senate building instead. 

For those who lived in the Gardens, they were a safe haven from the distasteful grime and seediness of galactic power and politics. It was a place to escape the harsh realities of life and pretend to be something simpler, something more akin to the person one left behind to take the reins of an intersystem corporation or a position of power in an important Senate committee that oversaw appropriations. 

Coming here in civilian clothes without the protection of his robes made Old Man feel distinctly uncomfortable and out of place, as if any moment someone would sidle up to him and gasp, “How quaint! An undercover Jedi! Let's eat him alive!”

Old Man would have preferred to be left behind, but here he was and he could not let his sour mood ruin the evening for Anakin and Arulas. 

Little Sister, on the other hand, could get the full blast of his ire. 

“Why am I here?” he muttered to her, taking a glass of very expensive Alderaanian liquor from a passing serving droid. “Why did I let you all drag me along to this party?”

“Because you want to see Satine just as much as Arulas does,” Little Sister observed as she sipped her water. “Now stop pretending you don't want to see her. You're doing that thing I do when I’m anxious.”

Old Man arched an eyebrow at his sister. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

Little Sister folded her arms over her chest and held her drink up in front of her mouth as if she were hiding behind it as she fiddled with her fingers under the opposite elbow. “This. Now stop fussing. Take a breath. Relax. No one knows who we are.”

“That's easy for you to say, Mina,” Old Man grumbled into his drink. “You are not our default prototype in the universe, it seems.”

“We don't know that for certain,” Little Sister reassured him, filching a particularly delicious canapé from a passing server’s tray with the Force and popping it in her mouth. “Besides… it could be worse. We could all be Sith.”

“Speaking of The Darkness,” Old Man sighed, taking a sip of his drink. “Where is he?”

“He and Anakin went off to do the rounds of handshaking and autograph signing,” Little Sister said, turning slowly as she surveyed the room. “It seems Cham Syndulla has managed to get Orm Free Ta’s Senate seat in this world. And no sign of Senator Chuchi.”

“Really? I guess Ryloth is better off in this world than ours,” Old Man mused. “That's good to hear.”

“It gives me hope for little Numa,” Little Sister smiled at him. “Oh! Senator Organa is here. That's reassuring.”

“I didn't know he knew the Duchess,” Old Man murmured, finding it far more comforting to take his role as a bodyguard literally and scan the area for threats. He felt it was a bit odd and wondered if he was searching for excitement and adrenaline. As if he needed a fix, so to speak. 

That was concerning. 

“I think Anakin and Arulas are headed this way,” Little Sister murmured as she turned to observe the other side of the rooftop balcony where the party was taking place. “At least try to pretend you're having fun.”

“Are you?” he asked, voice soft and low. 

Shrugging, she replied, “Anything is better than chasing Dooku and Grievous all over the Galaxy. Even a party like this.”

Old Man glanced over at Little Sister with a raised skeptical brow. 

“But it's not much better,” she finally confessed, finishing her water. “And now we’re smiling! Hello, boys!”

“There you are!” Anakin grinned at Little Sister as he and Arulas rejoined them. “You should have come with us! We got to meet some senators and a holo-actor who got his start in  _ Desire Before Dishonor!” _

“Have we already seen this person?” Old Man asked, his brows raised in skepticism. 

“He’s from Season Two, Episode Four, and he dies tragically in Padawan Ayden’s arms,” Arulas grumbled, beckoning a serving droid over and taking two drinks from the tray. When Anakin thanked him and tried to take one, the Sith Lord glowered at him. “Get your own, you golden puppy-bear. These are mine.”

“Greedy boy,” Little Sister chided. “Has the Duchess arrived yet?”

“No,” Arulas muttered, downing one of his drinks in a single, quick gulp and returning it to a passing droid. “And there’s no word on when she’ll arrive, just… ‘Soon.’”

Old Man sighed. “So we’re stuck here?”

“For the time being, yes,” Arulas frowned, looking back over the happily mingling collection of beautiful and powerful people, the former congregating around the latter. “My master has always found these types of parties to be terribly useful.”

Little Sister rolled her eyes and mumbled to Old Man. “Yes. No doubt to assassinate people.”

“Spot on!” Arulas smirked with a raise of his glass. 

“Okaaaay!” Anakin announced, standing upright. “I’m going to go see if I can find an actual Mandalorian and pin down when the Duchess is going to be here. Little Sister? Would you be so kind as to escort me?”

Little Sister nodded, taking Anakin’s arm and sashaying off with him into the crowd.

Old Man glanced at Arulas once they had disappeared into the crowd. “You look nervous. Relax. Take a deep breath.”

“I haven’t seen her in eighteen years, Old Man,” Arulas said, turning back to the Jedi, his expression tortured, marred with fear and anxiety before he managed to get it under control. “I have every right to be nervous.”

For a moment, Old Man was reminded of another conversation he had with a nervous young man about to meet a woman he had been daydreaming about for a decade. He wondered if this was his lot in life, to give romantic advice to people who should really not be entertaining romantic notions about planetary royalty.

But something struck Old Man as odd as he watched the partygoers. “Eighteen years, but that would mean…”

If Satine was dead in Arulas’s world and he hadn’t seen her in eighteen years and he appeared to be roughly the same age as Old Man, perhaps a bit younger, then that meant…

“How old are you?” Old Man asked suddenly, facing Arulas. 

The Sith Lord returned his gaze with a solemn frown. “Thirty-four. I was sixteen when she was murdered by hardline conservatives who did not believe in peace.”

Arulas finished off his second drink and gave Old Man his best bitter, lupine grin. “But they paid for it later. Once my master loosened my leash a little.”

“Arulas…” Old Man whispered, his eyes round and horrified. “What have you done?”

“A better question is what haven’t I done,” Arulas shrugged, gazing out over the jeweled lights of distant Coruscant. “What won’t I do is a much shorter list. Easier to write down and keep track of. You might want to take notes.”

Thoroughly disgusted with his Sith counterpart, Old Man took his leave of Arulas and picked his way through the party. He made a slow and careful circuit of the rooftop terrace, passing by people who would have been his friends and acquaintances in his home world. He bowed his head as he walked by a clutch of young aides gossiping about who Senator so-and-so was sleeping with and whether Representative such-and-such was on the payroll of the Trade Federation. 

Stepping down onto a balcony that seemed to be wreathed in long, gossamer ivory-white curtains, Old Man spied a quiet corner that was tucked behind the columns of a pergola dripping with blooming maidenstears from Naboo. This particular strand had been bred to glow at night and bathed the area with an enchanted twilight, perfect against the distant sound of chimes. 

It occurred to Obi-Wan that he had stumbled upon the perfect spot for a secret assignation, the type abundant in holo dramas, and he thought of Podracer’s fondness for them. 

He had no doubt that somehow the writers of  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ were going to work a secret Jedi romance into their holo drama at some point. He had watched a few holo movies with his men during particularly long and boring hyperspace trips and it seemed that every third one seemed to involve a Jedi throwing the Code, the Order and the Light aside for the promise of romantic love. 

_ Love…  _

Old Man sat down before the beautiful view and shook his head, chasing such maudlin nonsense from his mind. It would do him no good to think about things that could not be. Better to focus on the present and how he could return to his own timeline and the war that waited for him. 

Because it  _ was _ waiting and every moment he spent here being pampered by the Podracer was another moment Anakin, Ahsoka, and his men were without his aid and assistance. Without Obi-Wan there to advocate on their behalf before the Council, Force only knew what disasters they had been assigned to. 

What questionable and morally dubious assignments they erroneously believed Anakin was capable of handling. 

“Master Kenobi! I didn’t know you would be here. How lovely to see you again!” A bell-like voice shattered Old Man’s brooding and he found himself momentarily paralyzed with fear. 

_ No one should know me here! I shaved my bloody beard and cut my hair!  _

Before Old Man could say anything, the owner of the voice swept into view and perched herself on the cushion next to his, her gown a many-layered thing of chiffon splendor and embroidered corsetry. 

“S-senator Amidala?!” Old Man managed to choke out as the Senator proceeded to sit far too close to him for his and propriety’s sake. “I… how lovely to see you, my lady.”

“Always such a gentleman, Obi-Wan,” the Senator said with a coy smile as she turned to face him. “And you shaved! Darling, did you do that for me? I love it! The stubble makes you look so ruggedly handsome!”

“Ah… yes, a friend helped me with it,” Obi-Wan managed to get out in between waves of anxiety and confusion. Why was Senator Amidala dressed so provocatively? Why was she sitting so close to him? Why did she smell so lovely and why was she smiling at him like that?

“Please tell your friend that I owe them one,” Padme murmured as she moved closer to him, placing her hands on his forearms, her head tilted to the side. “I love this little nook you’ve discovered. These are some of my favorite types of maidenstears. Sadly, Mother has never been able to get them to grow in her garden.”

“How unfortunate,” Obi-Wan replied, looked down at at Padme’s hands on his arms, on her nearness and cloud of violet and purple chiffon that pooled around them both, like a pastel cloud. She was far too close for this to be a simple, courteous conversation. Clearly this Padme was very familiar with the Master Kenobi of this world, which, when Obi-Wan thought about it, made sense. According to the Temple records Little Sister had procured, this world’s Master Kenobi had apparently spent a year of his apprenticeship protecting the Senator from those who wanted to keep her from becoming the reigning monarch of Naboo. “They are particularly lovely this evening.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much, Obi-Wan?” Padme grinned at him, her voice warm and her eyes twinkling with something he couldn’t quite place.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to explain that he had, on occasion, been told he talked too much but then Padme’s soft, delicate body was pressed against his and her lips were on his, hungry and expectant. 

Time and space came to a screeching halt as Obi-Wan held Padme in his arms and let her kiss him. 

He wasn’t quite sure what had motivated the Senator to initiate the embrace but now that he found himself in it, he wasn’t quite sure how to get out of it. Not without insulting the Senator and tipping her off to the fact that the man she thought was her Master Kenobi was not, in fact, the Jedi Master she was clearly having an affair with. Obi-Wan held her close, slowly and carefully wrapping his arms around her, trying to not notice how warm she was, how delicate she felt in his arms and the lovely floral scent of her perfume. He tried to focus on important things, like what would happen if he were caught in public kissing a Senator, or Arulas’s merciless teasing, or even Little Sister’s annoyed eye roll, but none of those seemed to do the trick.

Jedi Master or no, Obi-Wan was still a man who held a beautiful woman in his arms, one who happened to be quite a good kisser and seemed downright determined to pin him in place through sheer passion. 

Which all things considered was not  _ unpleasant  _ in the slightest but he really,  _ really _ needed to put a stop to this before it got out of hand. 

Just as soon as he could figure out how to stop it. 

In just a minute.

Padme pulled away first, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with delight. “Obi-Wan! If I didn't know better, I would think I surprised you!”

Old Man gave her his best charming smile, not sure what he was going to say until it came out. “And if I didn't know better, I would think we were alone in your apartments after that bit of loveliness.”

Padme laughed brightly at this, looking back over her shoulder through the gauzy curtains at the assembled guests, all of whom seemed oblivious. She tucked a curl behind her ear and curled her hands around Obi-Wan’s, holding them in the chiffon poof of her skirt. “I’m sorry, my love. It’s just… It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to see you like this. It makes me think of Naboo, when you first came to rescue me.”

Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing his thumb over Padme’s knuckles. “It… seems like a different lifetime.”

Nodding, she let out a heavy sigh, her brown eyes pained. “I know that we agreed to wait until your padawan has passed her knight’s trials but… Nevermind. I’m being selfish.”

“Ahsoka’s trials will be here far sooner than we realize,” he offered, stroking her cheek in a manner that he hoped Padme would find comforting and similar to however Master Kenobi would comfort her. He remembered the feel of Satine’s hand in his, and his heart spasmed in his chest even as he kept his face carefully neutral. “We must be patient, my dear.”

Padme nodded with acceptance. “I know. Will I see you tonight? Or do you have another late meeting with the Council that you can’t tell me anything about?”

Old Man took note of Padme’s cryptic comment before responding. “I’m afraid I have a debriefing. I wish it were otherwise but…”

“I know,” Padme said, her expression affectionate as she stood up and leaned over to give Obi-Wan another sweetly passionate kiss. “Just remember that while you’re out saving the galaxy, I’ll be alone in my apartment waiting for you.”

And with that tantalizing bit of flirting done, Senator Amidala managed to pull herself away from Old Man, her hands sliding out of his grasp, leaving him strangely cold and bereft. Still unable to believe what had just happened, he watched her make her way back into the circles of the party, saw her smiling at other senators and aides involved in the day-to-day business of the Senate. She drew people in like the star of a system, some attracted by her beauty, others by the power of her position and still others by the magnetic, indescribable mix of bravery and compassion that was Padme Amidala. 

He could understand why Anakin had a crush on her. 

“Is that Senator Amidala?” Little Sister asked, appearing from around a corner with two glasses of champagne, handing one to Old Man as she gazed at the clutch of partygoers that Padme had been swallowed up by. “What was she doing over here?”

Old Man took the champagne flute and threw back the entire contents of the glass before gasping out, “Kissing Master Kenobi. She seems to be having an affair with him.”

“What?!” Little Sister gasped, her eyes round with shock. “She is not! How do you kno… Old Man! Did you just kiss Padme?!”

Old Man looked over at her with a stricken face. “I didn’t have a choice! She just flung herself at me! I was afraid if I resisted her advances that we would be discovered!”

“So you just made out with a Senator?” Little Sister continued to gape, gesturing with a hand as she, too, finished off the rest of her champagne with a gulp. “Obi-Wan! I cannot believe you!”

“It’s not technically against the Code!” Old Man protested, standing up, still looking a little pale, even for him. “And how is this any different than whatever undercover missions you and Anakin have embarked on?”

“You leave him out of this!” Little Sister scolded, rolling her eyes. “And for the record, we have not gone on any undercover missions that required me to amorously accost him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Old Man was surprised at that. “Really? That seems like something the Council would be having you two do every other week.”

“You’ve been listening to Podracer’s synopses of  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ .” She shook her head, looking out over the balcony. “I’m not upset that you and Padme shared a passionate embrace. I’m  _ concerned _ about what will happen when she contacts Master Kenobi and reminisces on their stolen kiss on the balcony with your charming new haircut and shorn beard.  _ That’s _ what I’m worried about.”

Old Man opened his mouth to defend himself from Little Sister’s comments and then snapped his jaw shut. “Point taken, Sister. I… I was not able to think of that in the moment.”

“I’m not surprised,” Little Sister chuckled. “My Anakin seems terribly besotted with her, although he clams up tighter than a Kamino cloner when I ask him about her.”

“That is… less than encouraging,” Old Man sighed, shaking his head, refusing point blank to think about the exact nature of his Anakin’s relationship with Padme Amidala. It would serve no purpose and, besides, if he thought too hard about Anakin’s odd silence on the Senator, he would have to start thinking about everything else he had shoved down into the shadowed fathoms of his spirit. And that would not help anyone. 

“Well, at least we’ll have something to bargain with if Master Kenobi ever does come calling,” Little Sister observed, staring out over the twinkling expanse of Coruscant. 

Old Man shook his head. “It would be wrong to blackmail him. Surely he is taking steps to… extricate himself from his predicament. I would, if it were me.”

“You would have an affair with Padme Amidala?” Little Sister teased, gently elbowing Old Man in the ribs as they stood on the edge of the party. “Scandalous! What would the Council say?”

“I would imagine they would be surprised it was not Satine Kryze,” Old Man murmured, almost before he realized what he was saying. 

“Like Jedi, like Sith, it seems,” Little Sister said, her voice amused. “While I do agree that Satine is quite beautiful, I have never felt compelled to indulge in an amorous encounter with her. With anyone, to be honest.”

Old Man glanced over at Little Sister, his eyes narrowed as he tried to imagine how different his life would have been as an attractive young woman, as opposed to a fairly average-looking man with a smile that had a bit too much bite. He wondered how it would have affected his relationship with Anakin and just how Little Sister and her Anakin’s dynamic worked. 

“What is he like?” Old Man found himself asking, almost surprised by his own words. “Your Anakin. What is he like?”

Little Sister smiled, a bright expression of true affection. “A lot like yours, I would imagine. Fearless and brave, always on the move, always trying to save as many lives as he can. He shines brighter than a star and I am so very proud of him, of how hard he works, how he refuses to give up, how deeply he cares of his men and for Ahsoka.”

There was the faintest hitch in her voice as she continued. “I miss him very much. I hope I can return to my own world as soon as possible.”

Old Man nodded, staring at his empty drink. “Yes. He sounds very much like mine.”

_ Liar. Anakin is angry and distant, growing more so by the day. He is loyal to his men and perhaps nominally to the Order but you know he’s going to leave. The minute the war is done. He’ll leave the Order and…  _

Old Man shook his head and forced a charming expression onto his face once again. “Let’s go find Podracer and Arulas. Perhaps we might be able to ascertain the expected arrival time of the Duchess.”

“So that we can figure out how much longer we are expected to be here?” Little Sister smirked and took the hand that Old Man offered to her. “That is a fine idea, Ben. Let's go see what trouble those two have gotten into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! A WE THREE UPDATE!!!
> 
> Okay, it's not THAT much of a surprise because I mentioned it on tumblr but still! SURPRISE! Will Arulas ever get to see Satine again? Will Senator Amidala clue into the fact that she kissed the wrong Master Kenobi and will Podracer get to dance with any of his Obi-Wan's at this party?
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter where hopefully we will answer at least one of these questions!
> 
> If you have questions about We Three or just want to complain with me about the RNG in Star Wars: Galaxy of Heroes you can find me at [FireflyFish](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/)


	9. Her Grace, the Duchess of Mandalore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Podracer meets an enthusiastic fan, Arulas seeks the cleansing power of the Dark Side to calm his nerves, Old Man has to sit down for a bit and Little Sister serves as everyone's chaperone because someone has to. 
> 
> Oh, and the Duchess of Mandalore _finally_ arrives. 
> 
> _"A Mandalorian is never late, Anakin, nor is she early. A Mandalorian arrives precisely when she means to."  
>  -Satine Kryze, the Duchess of Mandalore and notoriously tardy party guest_

In a shocking turn of events, Anakin and Arulas were chatting amicably when Old Man and Little Sister found them again. 

Not only had the duo managed to stay out of trouble, but they had learned an estimated arrival time for the Duchess of Mandalore. 

“She should be here in the next half hour,” Anakin revealed with a broad smile. “We spoke to the Mandalorian aide who works with Satine when she visits Coruscant to address the Senate.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Old Man said, his gaze drifting over the partygoers. “And how long will it take her to work through the welcome line to you?”

Anakin shrugged, tossing back the last of his champagne. “I don’t know. Another half hour maybe? Why?”

“I think Ben is feeling the effects of too much champagne and too many people,” Little Sister explained, reaching out to pat Old Man on the shoulder. “We’re not used to fancy parties in the same way you… and apparently Arulas are.”

“Don’t you get invited to events held by the Senate?” Anakin asked, waving to a giggling clutch of young women on the far side of the terrace, flashing them his trademark grin. “I always see at least one or two Jedi mingling on the edge of the crowd or trailing after the Chancellor.”

“We’ve been a bit too busy as of late,” Little Sister replied, hiding an amused smile behind her hand. “You really are quite popular, Anakin. I haven’t seen a reaction like that since the time I had to escort that Akitan opera singer to Corellia. People positively swooned in her presence.”

“Oh! I remember her!” Old Man chuckled, his mood momentarily lifted by a funny memory. “Do you know, she tried to propose to me and then wanted to adopt Anakin?”

“Someone tried to marry you?” Podracer asked, curious. “Who? What did you say when she proposed?”

“I told her I was already committed to a life of service in the Order,” Old Man chuckled, shaking his head. “But stars bless the woman, she was dedicated and would not take no for answer. Well, not until she fell madly in love with her Pantoran co-star. I lost track of her after that.”

“According to the holo gossip hounds, she and her partner are expecting their fourth child this fall,” Little Sister said, as the bravest of the group of Podracer’s admirers shyly made her way to their group. “Anakin? You have a fan at your six.”

“My six?” Podracer glanced over his back and spied the approaching girl and then turned back to his Kenobi entourage, a wide smile on his face. “That was battle talk, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, now say hello to the young woman,” Little Sister chuckled, waving a hand at the brave young woman garbed in low-cut, skin-tight crimson. 

The assembled Kenobis turned away as the fan broke into a torrent of high-pitched giggles as she explained the depth of her support of Podracer. Her excitement and nerves were plain as day in the Force as well as a giddy hope that something might come of her encounter with a famous celebrity. Arulas tried to cover his snicker and Old Man simply looked heavenward, telling himself it was impolite to snoop, unintentionally or otherwise, on another sentient’s inner world. 

Little Sister took a glass of something fruity and vibrantly purple and cleared her throat. “This has been a most… interesting party. I’m almost disappointed that no one has tried to amorously accost me. No, that is not an invitation to do so, Arulas.”

“I do not ‘accost’ anyone, least of all my dearest sibling who has secreted a lightsaber upon her personage, ” Arulas commented, arms folded across his chest as the three stood, a trio of gently amused Force sensitives trying not to listen in on Anakin’s gentle but polite refusal of all sorts of amorous delights that could await him with the young woman and her equally amorous friends. 

She whispered a flirty promise of something that teetered on the border of gymnastics and sexual activities in one last attempt to woo Anakin away from his Kenobi triplets, which made Old Man murmur to Arulas and Little Sister, “I didn’t even know that was physically possible!”

“There are some Near Human species that have what we would consider hypermobility,” Little Sister responded with the nonchalant air of a bored academic, a twinkle in her eye. “Or at least that’s what Quinlan Vos keeps telling me. Although I’m not sure I really believe he’s seen or done half the things he tells me about.”

This managed to get a laugh out of Old Man and Arulas, and when Anakin’s amorous new friend finally left him and he turned back to join the others, the air around the three was much warmer and he could tell that whatever it was that was bothering Old Man and Arulas had been forgotten for the moment. It was like their first dinner back in his apartment, and Anakin preferred that immensely over the polite sniping that seemed to be Obi-Wan Kenobi’s chosen form of inflicting pain on himself and his other selves.

“What did I miss?” Anakin asked, sliding between Old Man and Little Sister, putting his arms around them both. “Cool Jedi stuff? Did Satine finally show up?”

“We were discussing the extracurricular activities of a friend who considers himself something of a playboy,” Old Man chuckled, risking a glance back at Anakin. His confident smile and aura were so familiar it was almost as if his former padawan was at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Ah… his name is Quinlan Vos. I don’t think you would know who he is.”

“Can’t say that I’ve heard of him,” Anakin mused, shaking his head. “What’s he like?”

“He’s someone who would have the number of your silver-painted lady friends,” Arulas replied with a smirk. “On speed dial.”

“Arulas!” Little Sister groaned, reaching out to smack the Sith Lord on the arm. “Really! We are in public!”

“Sounds like my kind of Jedi then,” Anakin replied with a smug grin. “I hope I get to meet him. And don’t forget it wasn’t just ladies at my birthday party.”

Anakin gave Arulas a broad and lazy smile as he looked the Sith Lord over from head to toe before wiggling his eyebrows at him. Arulas blinked in surprise at Anakin, a small blush appearing on his cheeks before he turned away. 

“Oh look! The Duchess has arrived!” Little Sister said loudly, pointing to the growing commotion on the other side of the balcony where several speeders had pulled up to the landing pad. There was a flurry of activity, the young and easily starstruck gathering at the railings as the older and more experienced lounged on chairs, continuing their conversations, untroubled by the arrival of a planetary ruler. 

“Perfect timing as always,” Old Man sighed, deftly untangling himself from Podracer’s arm, wrapping his arms around himself. He took a few steps back from Anakin and the others, taking a deep breath to prepare for the shock of seeing Satine alive again after…

After Maul stabbed her through the back with the Dark Saber.

After she had died in his arms on Mandalore. 

After she whispered her last words to him.

_ Remember, my dear… Obi-Wan. I loved you always… I always will.  _

The pain of that memory, so clear and sharp, sent his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears and his lungs constricting. He was back on Mandalore, in the throne room, the smell of burning ozone and plasma filling his nose as the faintest scent of lilacs, Satine’s perfume, drifted on the cool recycled air. 

Satine was in his arms, still warm as her body died in his arms, as her spirit fled into the Force.

Just like Qui-Gon.

Just like so many of his men on the battlefield.

And one day, maybe just like Anakin. 

Satine was gone.

And yet the Force hummed with her presence, with the faintest whisper of her voice and her laughter in the air. The same smell of lilacs and vanilla, the same cool light, like winter sunlight through stained glass, filled up his awareness and it hurt. It ripped at Old Man’s soul as if Maul had stabbed him through the gut instead. His Satine was gone, forever torn away from him, from her family and from her people.

And yet, cruelly, she lived here, safe and whole. 

“Ben? Ben, what’s wrong?” a voice called to Old Man as he collapsed into a chair, too many memories and too many sensations overwhelming him. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the images, tried to shut his imagination down through sheer force of will, as memories collided, one against the other, of happier times, of times he and Satine quarrelled, of all the times he wanted to tell her the truth of his young heart and all the times he held back. 

_ If you had said the word… I would have left the Jedi Order. _

“Ben? Mina! Something’s wrong with him!”

_ I would have. I would have, Satine. If you had only asked. Then maybe… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Qui-Gon would have gone to Naboo with a knight instead of a worthless padawan like me. Maybe they could have defeated Maul and Master Jinn would have lived and Anakin… Anakin would have been trained by a real master and not…  _

Old Man covered his face with his hands, the heavy burden of training Anakin, of everything that had happened during the war, of all the lives lost and the wrong things done for the right reasons, all of it became too much. If he had only gone with Satine, maybe none of this would have happened. 

And Anakin wouldn’t hate him. Wouldn’t keep pulling away in quiet, mulish anger that Obi-Wan couldn’t break through, couldn’t get over or around.

_ If I never had you, Anakin, I would never lose you. _

“BEN!” Anakin’s face appeared in Old Man’s vision, his blue eyes round and worried as he looked up into his face. “Ben? What’s wrong? You just… where did you go? Are you okay?”

“Here’s some water,” Little Sister said, pressing a cool glass into Old Man’s hands. “Drink, Obi-Wan. Take a breath.”

Old Man blinked at the glass of water in his hands and mechanically raised it to his lips, taking a long slow sip of water, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the moment, on the cool, bright liquid and the sound of Little Sister and Arulas’s quiet conversation. Podracer stayed with him, kneeling in front of him with growing concern. His spirit was warm and enveloping in the Force, comforting Old Man as best it could. 

_ When was the last time Anakin felt like this? When was the last time he felt so light? Sweet Force, I can’t remember. Has it been so long? _

“Ben?” Podracer murmured, his hands on Old Man’s knees. “Do we need to get you home? Is this… is the Force telling you something?”

_ Yes. That I’m losing the war and my best friend. _

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Old Man managed to croak out. “I… underestimated my reaction to seeing Satine alive again. I did not think I would… I’m sorry. Give me a moment and I shall be ready to greet the Duchess.” 

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Podracer frowned, reaching out to squeeze one of Old Man’s hands. “We can go home. The Duchess will understand. I’ll just tell her you got sick.”

There was an explosion of angry spikes in the Force and Old Man glanced up at Arulas and Little Sister, who were looking back at him, fury on his face and concern on hers. 

Although there was no connection between Arulas and Old Man, the Sith Lord’s expression made his opinion on the matter clear.  _ You will not ruin this, Jedi.  _

“I’m fine,” Old Man said, swallowing the bile at the back of his throat and turning back to Anakin, covering the podracer’s hand with his. “I can manage a bit longer.”

“Are you sure, Ben?” Little Sister asked, her grey eyes locked on his, her tone measured and cool, on duty as the only uncompromised Jedi in the party. “I can keep Arulas company if you need to go home.”

“I do not need a chaperone!” Arulas spat, his yellow eyes round with indignation. 

Little Sister arched an eyebrow at Arulas. “Somehow I doubt that. But the offer stands. Anakin and you can go home before us, and Arulas and I will follow later in a hired speeder.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Anakin standing up. “I’ll go get the speeder and then we can go home.”

“Honestly! I am fine,” Old Man said as he stood up, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit and missing the comforting familiarity of his robes and tabards. “I do not need to go home at this moment in time, and might I remind you that Arulas will have little to no reason to approach the Duchess without an introduction from Anakin?”

Podracer frowned at that. “Ben has a point. The guards won’t let him near her if he’s not in the receiving line or introduced by someone Satine knows. Are you sure you’re okay staying a little longer?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Old Man grumbled, waving Anakin’s concern off. “I’ll stay right here, in clear view of the stars and planets whilst you make the necessary introductions for our dear brother.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” Arulas replied, his voice empty of sarcasm, of snark or deception. Such genuine gratitude put a smile on Little Sister’s face, one that found a twin on Anakin’s and a smaller echo on Old Man’s. 

“I think I see the end of her receiving line,” Little Sister commented, bringing the moment to a neat close. “Podracer? Arulas? Shall we go meet the Duchess?”

“I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Old Man smirked at Arulas, who was trying to appear cool and collected even as he ran a hand through the hair that had come undone from his rakish ponytail. “Little Sister? I’m leaving you in charge of him. Do not let him sully my good name.”

“Duly noted, Ben,” Little Sister said as she accepted Podracer’s hand and started off toward the hubub surrounding the duchess, Arulas following on their heels. He glanced back at Old Man, a look in his eyes that Obi-Wan couldn’t quite make out.

Old Man watched Arulas turn his attention back to Podracer and Little Sister, hurrying to catch up to them both before they were lost in the swirl of people milling around the far end of the party. Letting out a sigh, Obi-Wan turned his back to the crowd and took a seat, gazing up at the charcoal blue-grey haze of night and trying to make out the stars overhead. 

_ Good luck, Arulas. I hope she is everything you remember her to be. _

 

* * *

The crowd around the Duchess of Mandalore was considerably thinner by the time Anakin had schmoozed his way through the subtle outer layers of her security. Arulas watched in silent amazement as the podracer at his side deftly convinced one blue-suited aide after another that he was a dear friend of the Duchess, either by knowing their name or giving them a full-wattage smile that turned knees, male and female, into jelly. He had no way of knowing it, but Anakin worked the crowd like the most skilled Jedi master, using a subconscious touch of persuasion here, a gentle caress of good feeling there and an ability to remember names and faces that bordered on instantaneous. By the time he was done, Arulas had come to an all new appreciation for the untrained man at his side. 

_Perhaps there’s more to you than a pretty face and quick reflexes_ , Arulas thought to himself as he played the easy part of a silent and impassive body guard. He had exchanged nods with the magnificently caped and helmeted Mandalorian ducal guards, who observed him and Little Sister with politely muted suspicion but let them past all the same.

Little Sister stood at Podracer’s side, smiling blandly and doing a fantastic job as brainless arm candy as they waited for Satine, the duchess, to finish up with her last clutch of admirers. They were an effusive group, with a few Neimoidians among them, who were begging for a meeting with the Duchess to discuss future trade pacts. It was clear she did not wish to speak with them, her annoyance bleeding into the Force and setting Arulas’s teeth on edge. 

He hated Nemoidians, hated their stupid Trade Federations, and their entire selfish way of life. Arulas found his own master’s reliance on their greed outweighing their cowardice disgusted him on some level that had never quite let go of the Jedi concept of honor. Nemoidians were childish bullies, more concerned with their bottom line and their own pockets than what was good for their cause as a whole. 

But maybe that was why his master found them so useful. They were always so busy trying to get ahead that they never paid attention to what was going on around them. 

_ I suppose it’s good to know things aren’t really all that different here and it does give me quite the unfair advantage.  _ Arulas felt a smug smile bloom on his face and took a moment to remember that he had a role to be playing and it was not that of an overconfident Sith lord. He closed his eyes and, as much as he hated to admit it, took a breath as he opened himself to the Force and its eddies and currents, picturing a cold, inky river washing through him and carrying away his nervous fear and anxious wondering. 

Arulas felt the Force move through him, felt it clearing out the worry and doubt, smothering the anger and washing away the misery of nearly twenty years, leaving him cool, empty and in control. 

When he had last seen Satine--  _ No, the Duchess _ . He could not think of her in such overly familiar terms, yet.

When Arulas had still gone by the name Obi-Wan and had last seen the Duchess, he had been an impetuous young man, full of the ardor of love and just as awkward and clumsy as any boy in love with a beautiful young woman so far out of his league. 

Somehow, despite this, his stumbling confession of love and adoration had charmed her and to Arulas’s joy and relief, she had returned his affection. Even though they had been on the run from bounty hunters, they had spent that time together in a kind of innocent haze of love, passion and danger. 

When it was finally over, when the Duchess was safe back on Mandalore, Arulas and Satine had walked through the gardens of her family home, quiet and forlorn.

_ “I cannot believe this is the end of our time together,” Satine murmured, standing under a fainting lilac bush. She looked up at him, her blue eyes full of tears even as she tried to keep the anguish from her voice. “I… I do not want it to end, but it must, mustn’t it?” _

_ “I confess I will not miss running from bounty hunters day and night,” Obi-Wan laughed weakly and then immediately regretted his words as he saw what effect they had on his beloved. “But I that does not mean I long to leave your side, Your Grace. I don’t want this to end either.” _

_ He kissed her, an impetuous act, especially given that his master and her family were in the vicinity of the garden and surely one of them could look out the window and catch the two young lovers sharing an intimate moment. Satine leaned into Obi-Wan’s arms and he held her tight against his chest, hiding them under the protective spill of lavender blossoms.  _

_ When they pulled back, Satine clung to his shoulders and whispered softly. “Obi… I… I do not want you to leave and yet… I know I cannot ask you to stay, to give up everything you have worked your whole life toward.” _

_ Obi-Wan held Satine close, resting his head against hers as a thought came to him.  _ It would be worth it, for you, my love. It would all be worth it. If you need me, I am at your command.

_ “Ask it,” Obi-Wan murmured, bending his head and burying his face in her soft hair. “Please. I cannot do it myself.” _

_ Satine managed to pull herself away, to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes and see the truth hidden within them. A joyful smile blossomed on her face and she took his face in her hands as she whispered, “Are you certain this is what you want, my love?” _

_ He nodded. “Yes, my Duchess. Ask and I shall be yours.” _

_ Taking a step back and standing up straight and tall, a tower of regal strength and elegance, Satine spoke. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, will you stay here with me on Mandalore and help me bring peace and safety to my people?” _

_ Obi-Wan knelt before Satine, taking her hand in his and kissing the backs of her fingers. “Yes, my love, I will.” _

In the following years, after Qui-Gon had betrayed him, after Satine’s assassination and his eventual tutelage with his Sith master, Arulas had found the memory too painful, too naive and hopeful to revisit. And yet he couldn’t taint it with the Dark side, not once using it to fuel his pain and his rage in his quest to take his revenge on the galaxy and the man who had wronged him. 

Satine’s memory, the memory of what might have been was safely enshrined within Arulas’s heart, pristine and inviolate, lined up next to his other memories of that brief idyl from the selfless monotony of Jedi life.

Arulas had thought Satine lost to him for all time. 

And yet there she was, smiling as she finally escaped the clutches of a greedy representative and walking toward them, her eyes lighting up as she saw them. 

“Anakin Skywalker! You came!”

No, as she saw Podracer, who threw open his arms for a hug, as if they were old friends. 

“Satine!” Anakin said, his voice warm as he gave the Duchess a good, firm embrace. “It’s so good to see you again! I guess that means you got my embarrassing message?”

“I like to think of it as charmingly honest,” Satine laughed, patting his arm and shaking her head. “Although I have to wonder if your ‘sexy triplets’ saw it in the same light. And really, Anakin? Triplets? Where do you find the time?”

Shrugging with an impish smile on his face, Anakin offered his arm to Satine, who gladly took it, allowing the podracer to take her for a tour around the rooftop terrace, her guards and his at a respectful but actionable distance. 

Arulas kept his focus on the people around them, his eyes darting from Satine in front of him to whoever they passed, open to the Force and sluggish tide of emotions floating around them. While he sensed no impending danger, no hidden motives or weapons, the memory of parties just like this one were Arulas had been the charming assassin hidden in plain sight came too easily to mind for him to relax. 

And Arulas would let nothing harm the Duchess ever again. 

Little Sister, trailing behind Anakin because she knew Arulas would want to be behind Satine, took a step closer to him, murmuring softly. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Arulas all but snapped back at her well-intentioned question. “Do I not look fine?”

“You look like you want to snap the head off of anyone who looks at us funny,” Little Sister observed, giving a patently fake smile at a leering senate representative. “Relax, Arulas. I believe Anakin is navigating us to the quiet little berth Old Man and Senator Amidala got overly familiar in.”

“What?” Arulas hissed back, his eyes round with shock. “They did not!”

Little Sister raised her eyebrows in that politely amused way she had. “They did. Apparently this world’s Queen Amidala fell head over heels for the dashing Padawan Kenobi when he and Qui-Gon were sent to Naboo to protect her. I think I’m starting to see where  _ Desire Before Dishonor _ get their storylines.”

“Oh, like you don’t have a string of broken hearts trailing after you,” Arulas snorted, giving Little Sister a pointed once-over with his eyes. “Quinlan Vos, no doubt. Bail Organa, maybe? And I’m positive your former Padawan carries a torch for you as well.”

“Bail is married!” Little Sister shot back under her breath, mortified and furious. “And Anakin is far too sensible to secretly harbor romantic feelings for his former Jedi master. That is patently ridiculous.”

Arulas blinked at Little Sister in surprise. “Are we talking about the same person? He practically has romantic feelings for his droid! The boy is half in love with everyone!”

Little Sister glared back at Arulas as Anakin and Satine stepped into a quiet corner of the terrace, framed by a pergola dripping with luminescent maidenstears. Satine’s guards took up the job of the outward-facing security, starring stone-faced back at the party goers as Little Sister and Arulas moved between them to guard the railings. 

“Now that business of philanthropy is done,” Satine announced as she and Anakin finished discussing the activities of his charity and the planned expansion on Kalevala, “When do I get to meet these triplets? Strangely enough, I found the thought of them most intriguing. Are they clones? Did your starship racing take you out to Kamino?” 

_ Oh, so they know about Kamino here, _ Arulas mused, glancing over at Little Sister, who arched a surprised brow in response.

_ It seems they do.  _ Little Sister’s pursed lips seemed to say as she turned her attention back to Anakin, who was standing up. 

“No, I didn’t find them on Kamino,” Anakin laughed, holding an arm out to Little Sister. “They’re my new body guards. Mina? Arulas? I would like to introduce you to her grace, Satine Kryze, the Duchess of Mandalore. Satine? This is two-thirds of my triplets, Arulas and Mina Kenobi.”

“Your Grace,” Little Sister murmured, taking Satine’s hand in her hers and giving the Duchess a graceful curtsey. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Arulas watched with a kind of mesmerized stare as Satine flushed at Little Sister’s courtly behavior, her eyes filled with surprise as the Jedi stepped backwards, a perfect image of elegance and manners. 

“Mina, is it?” Satine asked, an almost smile on her face. “My favorite doll as a child was named Mina. It is a lovely name.”

Little Sister turned a charming shade of pink and studiously avoided Arulas’s wide-eyed glare. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is my elder brother, Arulas.” 

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, as Little Sister’s words ricocheted around in Arulas’s mind before they settled into a form he could recognize as words and translate their meaning into actions his numb body was capable of carrying out. 

He took a breath and mechanically moved forward, one step and then another before he was standing before Satine, no, the Duchess, and bending over to gently, reverently take her hand in his. He marveled at how beautiful her alabaster skin was against the dark plum of his leather gloves, at how light her hand felt in his. He had forgotten how delicate and feminine she was when so many of his cherished memories were of Satine’s inner strength and obstinate stubbornness. 

_ She’s so much smaller than I. How could I have forgotten that? What is wrong with me?  _ Arulas swallowed furiously as he summoned every last ounce of his mental control to shut down the panic and anxiety which belonged to Obi-Wan and allowed the passive, glacial ice of Darth Arulas to smooth over his rough edges.  _ This must be perfect. I cannot come all this way, have fought so hard to get here...  _

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Arulas murmured, raising the back of the Duchess’s hand to his lips and leaving the ghost of a reverent kiss there. His heart was pounding like the kala drummers of Ryloth as he lifted his gaze from Satine’s hand to her face, taking in the sight of her luminous beauty like a drowning man spying land. 

_ Satine… Oh how I’ve missed you, my love.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Arulas... you poor, poor man...
> 
> Happy April 1st my dears! I hope your day was full of fun, chocolate (if you can eat it) and just the right smattering of jokes to put a smile on your face. Now that our favorite Sith Lord has been reunited with his beloved Duchess Satine, I'm sure he'll totally chill out and happily help our stranded Jedi get back to their own times and places, right? Arulas is totally going to relax and stop being a prickly bastard right??
> 
> Darlings, I get the feeling you don't believe me... ¬____¬;;
> 
> Oh well! ^____^ Stay tuned next week for Satine's reaction to Arulas's smooooothnes, Old Man and Podracer sharing a speeder and Little Sister's patient affection for the love-sick fools she finds herself surrounded by. Please wish her some patience to get through all of this because I feel like she's going to need it. 
> 
> As always, you can come shriek with me at [FireflyFish.](http://fireflyfish.tumblr.com/)


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